MahiMahi
by Kyn
Summary: Mahi. Trua. Curiato. Three celestial beings found in the least likely of locations. They are the salvation of the world, the agents of the driving force of the Argent Dawn, and all those who fight against evil... or for peace... R&R please
1. Prolouge Begins with The Cast

PS: Yes. I am quite aware Zuljin does not have a heavy accent. That is intentional. A: He is not an island troll, and thus does not necessarily need to sound like a Jamaican. B: He's one of the most intelligent trolls to ever live, so I think he's allowed a degree of grammar.

PS: No, I do not condone swearing. Swearing used within this merely follows the thought path of the character- not my own.

PS: Yes, I know some of my characters are going to have bizarre responses to some things, adverse to their normal character. Hopefully this will not conflict with their character, as it is an intentional thing, brought on by forces working in the background- forces that will not be revealed to you till later on.

PS: No, PS is not standing for poststage note. It's standing for prestage note .

Main Charecters: Zul'jin, High Elf, Kel'Thuzad, Ketala, Sylvanis, Varimathras, Keever, Mahi Mahi, Zul'vii, Thrall, Jaina. (I'll certainly add Illidan, Tyrande, and Furion later on. And, of course, Arthas will be introduced, even if he is a butt hole. But for now, I've got enough leads to go with)

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**_Prolouge: It all begins with the Cast... Unfortunately, some of the cast has been omitted for the intent of keeping his chapter below 9000 words._**

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The Forest Troll  
(End of Reign of Chaos)

The Troll groaned lightly. He was so weak… he lifted an arm, the limb shaking and feeling as if it were made of heavy stone. Slowly, the three-fingered hand moved down to his side, just below his ribcage. There, he felt it. Warm, rust-smelling liquid lapped gently over his fingers. Puckered skin rose on each side of the deep wound in his side. He could feel the edge of the rib above it… could feel the broken muscle and flesh within it. There was so much pain…

But his mind was already immune to pain. In self defense, it had shut down perception of pain. Now all he could feel was numbness…

The forest troll squirmed lightly, his mind trying to force a reaction. Force him to live. Force him to get up. Force him to do SOMETHING. But he was all numb and leaden. He couldn't move but to twitch awkwardly.

That was odd. Around the blood he felt an almost… foam-like substance. Puss. So the wound was infected. Amazing that he could think so clearly, as if he were entirely detached from his dying body. His life's blood was streaming over the ground… It was infected by the claws of that monster he'd been wounded while fighting.

It wasn't rightly fair. He'd escaped so much. He'd succeeded so much where defeat was inevitable. He'd escaped the insane tortures of elves and humans alike… He'd survived with his band of trolls and taken refuge on nearby islands, evaporating into nothing in the mind of the Alliance. Preoccupied with their victory over the horde, preoccupied with the remaining war bands of orcs, the elves and humans had never once taken it into their minds to see if he'd survived. To see if he made it back to his people and escaped with them.

And he'd survived through all that conflict, survived that war, and managed to live all this time…

To die now?

His delicate ears picked up an elfin voice and elfin words. Elves? No, how could that be? There were no elves on his island. There had been no other people on his island but his forest trolls, at least not until the ghouls had arrived and attacked. At least not until the battle in which he had received the wound he was now dying from. Was his mind playing tricks on him?

No, he distinctly heard an elfin voice, coming nearer. Having been in conflict with high elves so long, he recognized quite a bit of their language- he was one of the few trolls to ever bother trying to learn it.

"Why a troll? Of all the F""""""God-blasted Hell-infested S""""-eating creatures on this F""""""" gargantuan earth, WHY A TROLL? A troll!"

The last thought he, Zul'jin of the forest trolls, had before he was consumed by blackness, was that he had never heard an elf use that many swear words in a sentence before (And 'troll,' being the equivalent of an elfin swearword, didn't count).

* * *

High Elf  
(Continued)

The forest troll, Zul'jin, gave a deep, guttural moan of pain. His slender, three-fingered hand automatically went to his side- and found nothing. He twitched violently, lifting his head and staring down at his side. His armor and shirt was ripped open at the correct spot, and soaked with blood, but there was nothing left of the diseased wound but a thin brown scar. He traced it with a finger, confused and surprised. It took him a moment to come to the conclusion that, as he had no reason to fear bleeding to death, he might as well get up and figure out what the hell was going on. His side still hurt- there was no denying that- but it was more like the hurt of a really bad bruise. It took him a moment to gather his long legs under him, and after that to stand up, but he managed it, using a hand to steady himself against a tree.

Whoever had helped him, had also built a fire. And yet… He sniffed the burning embers and examined the tree next to him. Familiar. Not a tree that grew on his island.

He was on the mainland.

But who would bring him here? And for what purpose? He needed to get back to his island, to see if anyone survived.

Slowly, Zul'jin stood on his own, and he walked over to the fire, looking down at it. Whoever had built it was forest-wise. Stones surrounded the flame, keeping it from spreading to the surrounding forest. Something occurred to Zul'jin, and he examined himself feeling for any weapons. No tomahawks… no battle axe… even the dagger he kept up his sleeve was gone. A troll rescuer would not have taken his weapons. Zul'jin might have been a forest troll, might have been of a race of primal savages and cannibals, but Zul'jin was an extremely intelligent creature. His orange eyes flamed.

The elfin voice. The elf he had heard talking had saved him. Upon reaching this resolution, he was greeted by a voice behind him, speaking in troll.

Well… 'greeted' was too kind a word. More like acknowledged.

"I see you're not a carcass yet, troll. Have your wounds healed?" He spun around, moving into a defensive stance. Before him was a female elf. She was almost ordinary. Almost. Her hair was dark purple, and she was easily as tall as he was. Before one disregards that comment, one might compare the standard 5'7 Elf Female to an 8 foot tall male troll. Apparently this bothered him, for the first thing that came out of his mouth was,

"Never seen a half elf, half ogre before." She turned flame red and her hand instantly went to her blade hilt. Apparently she wasn't bothered by killing the thing she had just saved, for the blade sang out of the sheath and hacked down at him. It took his lightning reflexes to get out of the way, and he picked up a rock from the fire, hurling it at her head. He was astounded when the blade whipped around and deflected the heavy rock with ease. She glared at him over the fire, her arms tense, holding the blade down at her side.

He glared back, anger in him festering, fueling his adrenaline. He was still weakened from blood loss, but he was a skilled fighter, and everything in him screamed that she was an enemy. She was a high (pun possibly intended) elf, and she deserved to be hacked asunder.

"Give me an axe, elf," he crooned sinisterly, "and you'll find your sword has not so much use to it!" Her unoccupied hand clenched into a tight fist and she stood up straight, willpower and anger contesting with one another.

"I," she began, her voice laced with bitter sarcasm and hatred, "was not sent to kill you, hellspawn. I healed your F"""""" wounds. You could bloody show some damned gratitude." He cackled, peering at her over the cowl of cloth he always wore around his face.

"You certainly didn't do it out of your own free will, half ogre" he remarked, smiling in a leering, taunting fashion. "And you definitely don't look like you enjoyed it."

"Who the hell would? Ya smell like s"""" and have the texture of diarrhea."

"At least I not be a slut, half ogre!" She lunged at him, dropping her sword. Her hands sought his throat as they tumbled down the hill behind him. Her fingers tightened on his windpipe, angrily attempting to choke and throttle the life out of him. He attempted to push her away only to find that the elf maiden/warrior WAS as strong as an ogre. Maybe stronger. He proceeded to struggle with her, trying to hit her and kick her off. But, un-phased by the series of blows she was receiving left and right, she continued to hold on. His vision started hazing, his hearing dimming and the pain in his neck starting to fade as his lungs screamed and heaved for air. He couldn't afford struggling anymore- he was suffocating.

Before the elf managed to extract the consciousness (or life) from him, her hands suddenly released their death hold, just resting on his neck, and she looked at something out of his range of sight with big eyes. She grabbed him under the arms and yanked him up onto the river bank with a harsh command to not move. Then she jumped off of him, sprinting off into the forest.

Zul'jin sat up, choking and holding his throat. He wasn't about to listen to an elf.

But something butted him in the back and he turned around to see a massive half-demon crocolisk sitting there, smiling at him, its pointed teeth slick with demonic venom. "Oh s"""," he murmured as the crocolisk's jaws opened and it snapped at his head. It was stopped inches from his face, by the elf dive-bombing into it. However, if it hadn't already been clear to Zul'jin that this strange elfin warrior was not entirely elf, it was clear now. There were golden, tendril like wings stretching out from her back, and she had attacked the crocolisk by air. Immediately, Zul'jin jumped up and backed away. He was entirely useless in a fight against the beast. Without a weapon, still dazed from being strangled, and against a demon possessed mammoth crocolisk, he was as good as scrap meat. Still, instinct told him running would only lead him into another monster; curiosity told him to stay there and see if the elf could handle such a powerful foe.

The crock roared, tossing and turning as the elf grabbed it around the neck, struggling in the mud for a moment. One of its clawed feet reached up, raking open her leg as she proceeded to get a perfect grip around it neck. Toothed jaws nipped her hair and yanked and she yelped, some of her hair getting pulled out. The demon possessed creature gave a powerful lunge and jumped on her lower body, its claws ripping into her abdomen. However, the elf had apparently found whatever grip and bones in the monster's neck she was looking for. She gave her arms a powerful wrench, snapping the creature's neck, and the demon-possessed crocolisk went still. The elf gave a hiss, shoving the creature off of her and groaning, holding the wound in her side. She stumbled to her feet, sloshing in the mud a moment, and then collapsed on the river bank, crawling up to a tree, her eyes closing.

Zul'jin eyed her a long moment, thinking to himself. Being an intelligent and rational (if slightly mad) creature, he was not as prone to acting out of pure rage and instinct like his brethren. Then again, Zul'jin did have the reputation for being the most cunning, brutal, and cruel troll to ever lead the troll war bands… Slowly he took a step toward the elf. Then, making up his mind, he walked over to her, examining her shining wings and her demon poisoned wounds. It was then he made the most random and least prejudiced decision of his entire life. He was curious, he had no idea what part of the Eastern Kingdoms he was in, and he needed to know what had happened to this world- and to his people. He did not _want _to help the elf- he had to. He had no other choice if he wanted to get back to his people.

Zul'jin picked her up unceremoniously and dragged her some way from the river. Her skin was hot to the touch, but not in a feverish way. It was more like the heat of a paladin. He figured she didn't need to be moved to a fire, so he knelt down and examined her wounds. Surprisingly, there were no bruises on her from his punches. Her hair was quickly growing back before his eyes in the patch that had been torn out by the crockolisk. The poisoned wounds in her side, however, did not seem to want to regenerate so quickly.

Finally, in an effort to stop the bleeding, Zul'jin united his cowl and wrapped it tightly around her wounded waist, and laid his hand over the wound, applying pressure. After around 15 minutes, she stirred, lifting her head. Her elvin eyes opened and she looked up at Zuljin and made a face.

Zul'jin was not a handsome creature. True, forest trolls were generally considered more appealing in appearance then island trolls. Thick, hard muscles rippled under their skin, and they did not stoop as much as island trolls. They were slender, tall, and unlike island trolls, their thick hair never thinned with age and they sported no facial hair.

Zul'jin's frame alone was a rarity. Rather than being heavy muscled, he was lean-muscled and sinewy. His fingers were long, slender, and powerful, his body slender and lean. His chin was pointed, his face slender and almost, almost elfin in shape.

But his skin was distorted, puckered, and bumpy, like a victim of fire or a skin disease. His eyes were like frog eyes in that they had no whites, and were almost as ugly as satyr eyes with red-orange irises. His tusks were both stunted, almost to the size of elfin fangs, having _even_ been rotten some, he was covered in spider webbings of old scars, and his ears were ragged at the tips.

"You're damn ugly, you know that?" she said darkly.

Zul'jin grunted "You don't exactly look like a flower yourself." She grinned, spitting blood out to the side, and sat up slowly, looking down surprised at where the cowl was wrapped around her wounded side. She eyed him critically, half between a smirk and a scowl.

"Why the hell would you try to stop me from bleeding?" He assumed a mock-innocent tone, highly lacing it with sarcasm,

"Why, the thought of you dying stuck a delicate vibe in my heart." Her eyes narrowed and she snorted.

"You just don't know the way out."

He grinned, showing teeth which- though they had been taken good care of since the troll had learned hygiene would keep them from rotting- still had horridly stunted tusks.

"That might be, elf, but I still wasted my own cowl to keep you from dying, you disgusting elf."

"If that's your problem, take it back. You can suck the blood out of it, you cannibalistic worm," she said, and she untied the bloody sash, throwing it at him. He cackled, shoving it in the stream and getting most of the blood out of it. Then he looked back at her, wringing it out.

"What, exactly, are you? You cannot be an elf. You're as tall as one of the ancient elves… the ones I've read about in some of your elfish books-" she blinked, turning her eyes directly to his and staring at him.

"Elfin? You can read and speak elfin?" He grinned evilly, nodding lightly.

"Night elves, your people call them. You are as tall as a night elf, with the same color hair, but your skin is pale like a high elf. You're slender, like a high elf, but strong like a night elf. And you also have wings. Plus, you regenerate at an alarming rate. What are you?" She eyed him suspiciously a moment, but seemed to make a concession, as she was going to have to travel with him.

"I am an elf angel, an Avarial. The Demigod I serve sent me to watch over you, as stupid and bizarre as that might sound." The troll was dead silent a moment, and then burst out laughing, cackling madly, and she glared at him, looking ready to strangle him once more.

"An elf- and elf _Angel_? You, who can swear better than an orc?" He kept giggling madly and she grinned at him in a feral way.

"Why, thank you." He stopped laughing after a moment, grinning back evilly. Then he stood up, stretching his arms.

"I want my weapons, woman." She scowled lightly.

"Why should I give them to you, troll?"

"It seems to me that you're my guardian angel, not my jailor." He grinned down at her. She glared vilely, but she knew he was right. With a flick of her hand, the axe appeared in midair, the blunt end falling and hitting him in the head. He gave a sharp growl, rubbing his head and grabbing the axe before it fell to the ground. He glared at her and snorted, strapping the axe to his side. HE caught the bundle of throwing tomahawks as they materialized over his head, and tied them to his back.

"Are you satisfied?" she asked darkly. He gave a nod, picking up his cowl and getting the last of the water out of it before tying it around his face and neck once again.

"Are my people all truly dead?" he inquired as he did so.

"Yes," she said, without any bitter hate whatsoever. He glanced at her and then went back to tying the cloth.

"What was it that slaughtered them?"

"The Scourge, a race of undead monsters."

"Undead? What has happened since we departed from this world?"

"More than you can imagine," she said and then paused. "The Horde was ultimately defeated."

"I'd figured that."

"The Alliance entrapped the orcs in prison camps, where, suffering withdrawal from demonic blood, they became lethargic. Grom Hellscream led one of the few leftover bans of free orcs, but Ogrim Doomhammer actually went off to live as a hermit." She watched Zuljin lift a brow. "Thrall, son of Durotan, was taken captive by a human as an infant. Raised as a favorite slave, he was educated, and developed a good military mind. He escaped and met up with Hellscream and Doomhammer. Eventually, he freed the horde.

"Led by a prophet, he brought his people to the far-off continent of Kalimdor, home of the Night Elves. Meanwhile, in Azeroth, the humans began to die of a plague and began to be raised as undead. The Demons, having lost the driving force of the orcs, were now commanding the undead. Arthas, son of the human king, led a mad rampage against the undead… and eventually became one himself. Jaina Proudmore, daughter of Admiral Proudmoore, set off on her own. Using her powerful but young abilities, she managed to lead a large armada of her own people away from Arthas and Azeroth. Led by the same prophet, she too sailed for Kalimdor. There, both Thrall and Jaina made an alliance with eachother, and with the Night Elves, and they drove the demons and scourge from Kalimdor."

Zuljin eyed her, lips parted. "The Alliance… AND Horde?" she nodded.

"But many of them die each day. Hatred does not die quickly. The new Horde is composed of Darkspear trolls, orcs, tauran- mighty bovine creatures- and the Forsaken- a group of free undead.

Zul'jin was silent, watching her, soaking this information is. Then he asked, "Why would an orc and a human band together?"

"For their own survival." The elf smirked lightly. He nodded after a moment and then changed the subject.

"So, what am I supposed to do about all this?"

"Good question, troll, but you can't go back. You no longer have a people to go back to." He bristled, growling lightly. "So, you might as well come with me. You've got no where else to go. You don't even know where you are right now."

No, he didn't, but he wasn't about to confirm that.

"I know we are in the eastern kingdoms."

"Good. Then you know you are an ocean away from the relative safety of the Horde. How do you propose to get there without me?" His hands clenched tightly.

"How do you propose to be welcomed into Horde lands with open arms?"

"Oh that's easy, Zul'jin. I'm Half Night Elf, Half High Elf, and I'm traveling with a Troll. I must be a Mercenary." She grinned evilly at him. "Now come on, we have some serious hiking to attend to." Zul'jin sneered and grumbled to himself, mocking her darkly.

"And where, may I ask, are we going?" he inquired as she smothered the fire and put it out.

"An abandoned temple. It will increase my powers so I can easily create a portal to Kalimdor."

"Oh," he said venomously. "Goody."

He was beginning to regret stopping her from bleeding to death.

* * *

Elemental/Human  
(End of The Frozen Throne)

The litch, Kel'thuzad, look silently down at the bundle of blankets before him. The tiny child swathed in them was silent, looking up at him with chaotically whirling eyes- changing from storm-like yellow, to frosty ice, to flame ridden red or blueish rain. Oddly enough, the small creature looked at peace, innocently gazing up at the monstrous litch before it without fear or distress. The litch tilted his head to the side, flame-blue eyes glowing softly in his sockets, idly wondering why the creature did not fear him. Any normal human child would shriek at his mere scent. This babe was slightly different in its lineage- as it was part elemental spirit- but that still did not explain its lack of fear. Maybe elementals had no fear of death. Tendrils of magic and ice leaked from where his legs would be- if he had still possessed such limbs, his skeletal torso and arms hovering the proper distance above the ground, and his tattered mage cape fluttered behind him.

The litch king, bound and one with Arthas, was pleased. This creature would be a beautiful weapon against demon and living-kind. But, both litch and litch king reasoned, it was far too young to become a proper servant of the undead now. They would have to wait until the child matured fully. This presented a problem: the child could certainly not survive on its own. Humans _could_ raise it... But Humans tended to be suspicious of anything that was not human. A child with mysteriously changing eyes was no exception.

Some of Arthas's remaining personality showed through, and the litch king remarked that perhaps Kel'thuzad should raise it. The powerful servant of the litch king was not able to scowl in reaction to the litch king's 'command' (His soul and mind weren't his own, so he couldn't _exactly_ dislike what the litch king bade him do). However, he was, ironically, one of the few undead capable of mirth. He laughed softly, amused.

_"As you wish, my master," _he said obediently, and 'knelt' beside the child. It made no protest as his claw-like fingers cupped around it and picked it off the ground. It tilted its head to the side, looking silently up at him, one of its tiny hands wrapping around his thumb. Despite himself, Kel'thuzad found himself giving a vague skeletal imitation of a smile (Which basically consisted of him baring his teeth). Bewildered by this impulse in himself, Kel'thuzad mentally went over what could have possibly stimulated such a response. Nothing came to mind.

"One day soon, little one," he murmered, watching the tiny child in his arms. "One day soon, you will know the glory of the Scourge... and you will fight for the will of the Litch King..." Kel'thuzad stood, looking at the remains of the destroyed Plagueland village. His troops were already siphoning gold from their small mine and hacking at the rubble to piece together a camp- a bastion of power in the Plaguelands. "But for now, you must grow strong, and for now I can be lenient with you. Let us find you something suitable to eat... And something to keep you warm..."

The blankets around the child were wet and slightly charred, so the litch sent out a few ghouls on a scavenger hunt. They returned with some useless, but dry, timber, some blankets that had not been caught in a fire, and a reasonable stock of human food and drink. At the litch's command they started a fire and scampered off to their normal menial tasks, and the litch sat before the fire. The child's tiny heart-beat, steady, slow, and persisting, was an irritant in his mind, and being near the fire was bothersomely hot. Still, he bore the irritation and, when all else failed, soaked a cloth with warm milk and let the tiny child suck on it. As he did this, he unwrapped the wet cloths from around it, revealing that the child was female. The litch smiled to himself, remembering the banshee queen Sylvanis, who he even now fought against at the boundry between the Plaguelands and the Undercity. He wrapped the new blanket around the small child and tilted his head to the side, watching it eat.

It was a frail, helpless creature, and he found himself watching it entranced. Its throat moved as it drank, its eyes closed and eyelashes soft upon its cheeks. He no longer cared for beauty. What entranced him was the fact that such a weak, helpless, flawed creature would fight so valiantly, so adamantly for its freedom. He could not understand the strength of humans. They were petty creatures, fighting over small grievances and caring for nothing but their own lives- as he, Kel'thuzad, had once been. They were driven by angry zeal to do inhumane acts, as Arthas did. Yet they banded together in times of war, took up arms, and their frail, flaw, easily ruined bodies fought tirelessly in battle. Adrenaline gave them strength. Passion gave them fuel. And they fought on and on and on to protect their greatest flaw- their freedom. And, more often than not, they won it. It defied all logic, all sense, that such soft, petty creatures could time and time again protect and save their freedom, their flaws, even against such all-mighty forces as the demons and the undead. It was as if all their flaws and freedom made them better then those races which HAD no flaws.

Her heartbeat was getting persistently irritating. It didn't fluctuate for anything. A ghoul's toe joint had gone flying past her head as it scampered away (Ghouls did not tend to hold together in the best of manners.) She hadn't blinked, hadn't even been phased as the litch effortlessly deflected the disgusting extremity. It wasn't like she was oblivious or retarded either, as she regarded everything with an undying curiosity. It was almost as if her tiny, half human _knew_ he wouldn't hurt her. It was as if she _knew _he'd take care of her; and on top of that, she wasn't frightened of him in the slightest measure.

"You need a name," he said, regarding the child impassively as he thought for a moment. "Ketala Fiheriae," he dubbed her. "_Servant of Ice._"

* * *

Banshee  
(Onset of World of Warcraft)

Sylvanis sat on the ledge bordering the walls of her 'throne room'. She was carefully tending her bow, cleaning it, inspecting the wood, polishing it, carefully examining each arrow and tossing away a few she felt were of inferior craftsmanship. One of her pointed ears twitched lightly as she picked up the sound of Varimathras's cloven hooves. She did not look up, however, even as he entered the throne room and came up to her. He bowed low, subserviently, one of his clawed hands to his chest in respect.

"My Lady," he said eloquently, not looking up at her. Sylvanis turned her attention to him and then shoved herself off the ledge, landing on the stone floor.

"Report, demon," she said softly, her voice laced with acid darkness. He stood, offering her a scroll, which she took and examined.

"The litch, Kel'thuzad, is taking the Plaguelands. Even now his forces sweep through those lands, crushing out pockets of resistance, and turning the entire landscape into a massive bastion of the litch king's control." Sylvanis sneered, nodding as she went over the map and notes.

"It is a diversion. Kel'thuzad and his master are trying to take my attention off Arthas and divert my strength to defending our base. By all rights, we should get up and move this very night toward Northrend!" She whirled around, gathering her quiver, shouldering it as she dropped the scroll unceremoniously on the ground.

"Dark Lady, be reasonable. That would leave us without territory, and with Kel'thuzad's army right behind u-" He cut off, being slammed into the wall with a dagger four inches into his shoulder. Sylvanis glared down at him, one hand at his throat, her nails digging into his skin and drawing blood. Varimathras's eyes widened and he cowered. "M-my lady- I didn't not mean to contradict-"

"Do not question me, Varimathras. Your advice may be welcome, but your dissent will not earn you peace from me. Remember who is master and who is servant." She looked down at the dread lord, who was averting his gaze from hers in a subservient way. His heart was hammering in his chest, and he swallowed hard. Sylvanis had long ago proved to Varimathras that vague humanity and pure, dark vengeance could work together to create more power than he had ever imagined. Varimathras had betrayed the Nathreziem to get Sylvanis to spare his life. He knew he would never have the courage to betray her. He respected her...And he knew full well his life rested entirely on her good humor. Sylvanis did not fool herself- Varimathras was an awesome asset to her power. But if he were to disobey her, she would kill him without the least bit hesitation. In fact, Sylvanis would kill him, right here, right now, if she felt the slightest desire to do so.

Satisfied by the demon's terror that he had learned his lesson, she pulled the blade from Varimathras's shoulder, and turned away from him. He turned his head to look back at her, and then put his mouth to his own wound. His saliva triggered the blade wound to seal as he drank in his own putrid blood. Then he gathered his feet under him and followed Sylvanis docily the short distance back to her scroll, which she picked up.

"I know full well that Arthas has the advantage. We cannot abandon this city. Thus we will have to work on eliminating Kel'thuzad. Killing him would be the greatest blow to the litch king's power that we could make in a single stroke." She turned, handing it to him. "Elaborate the plans for our defenses. Bring them to me when you have finished." She paused, looking off and thinking to herself silently. Then she smiled darkly at him. "I am going to give a few... visitors permission to come to our city. I suggest you stay out of their way. After all, they will only tolerate us to continue their demon-hunting campaign." Varimathras frowned.

"Outsiders? I could..." She eyed him dangerously, and he swallowed, making a small subconcious bow of his head. "I believe our forces could handle the Scourge without relying on outsiders..."

"This is a group that draws off the highest warriors from Horde and Alliance both." Varimathras froze.

"The Argent Dawn?"

The Banshee Queen nodded and smiled. "Keep out of their way Varimathras and do not start any quarrels with them." She turned and looked directly athim. "Do not dissapoint me Varimathras. I cannot afford to lose my chief counsel member, whether by their hand or by my own." Varimathras nodded obediently.

"I understand, Dark Lady." A soft, realistic smile touched her lips.

"Good. Now get out of my sight," she said with bitter amusement. He nodded, turning and heading for the exit. "Oh, Varimathras?" he turned, looking at her.

"Yes, my lady?"

"You look hungry. There should be plenty of prisoners still in the apothecarium that haven't been fed anything... abnormal... yet." Varimathras allowed a small, dark smile. It was an ironic thing, actually. Varimathras had once said to Sylvanis 'My lady, you become more and more like one of our kind each passing day.' While he saw this as an improvement in her power and cunning, it also made her cynical and angry. The more elfin she was, the less she was angry and the better her temper would be.

As long as her temper was good, Sylvanis would not take his life for petty problems. In essance, his survival relied upon how '_good' _she was as opposed to how '_evil.'_

* * *

Demon  
(Continued)

The ironic thing was that Varimathras was _loyal_ to Sylvanis. This began with having to fake loyalty to her to keep her from slaying him. But she was skilled, understanding how his mind worked. It wasn't till later that he realized she was a minor psionic, able to charm others like a Banshee possesses them. She knew when he lied, when he decieved, and she didn't like it. He killed for her, proving his 'loyalty' over and over again. Eventually it became more than just faking. Demons did not want him. They might offer to spare his life in return for him betraying Sylvanis, but he had commited too many grieviences against the Nathraziem. He knew their promises would all be in vain. And if he killed Sylvanis, not only would the entire demon race be out for him, but the Forsaken would have countless blades with his name on them.

Sylvanis was, awkwardly enough, his salvation. She held the key to his death and his survival. He was not safe away from her people, for he was hunted by demons. He was not safe amoung any other people, for he was hunted for _being _a demon. The only side he could possibly trade to would be Arthas, but the litch king had no real soul, no real life left within him. Sylvanis, as of yet, could still smile. With Sylvanis, there was still the small guarentee that she would not kill him without being provolked. Arthas would have no such inclination to spare his life after he had outlived his prime usefulness. Slowly, Varimathras had learned what it meant to be loyal- truely loyal. It stemmed from a sence of self-preservation, but it had evolved into fear, awe, respect, and loyalty.

There was nothing more he had to fight for but his own life. Sylvanis's good humor and her life ensured the longtivity of his own existance. Thus he bound his life to hers. He would defend Sylvanis to the last- just as he would defend his own life.

Varimathras walked into the prison just as an undead apothecary left. he smiled, moving up to a human female, and stroaked her chin tenderly. She cried hysterically for a few moments before succumbing to his demonic taint, almost like a seduction. Her sences went numb, and he bit into her neck, savoring the sweet taste of blood- something he was not allowed to near for long, extended periods of time. Sylvanis did not not let him indulge himself very often, so he made this feeding last. Ironic, he thought, that he now did this for nourishment rather than pleasure. Even more ironic that he'd made it so his victem felt no pain. Of course he did it to keep them from struggling and wasting their precious blood, but it was ironic all the same.

* * *

Undead  
(During World of Warcraft)

PS: Keever is actually found in the Undercity. He's found in the room in the Apothecarium with all the prisoners. He can be found talking to himself in the third person, and turning a drowsy human man into a toad; a squirrel; a rabbit; and, finally, an exploding sheep.

Keever giggled to himself, watching the human male develope pipustles that leaked acidic fluid. It was a pity this plague needed to be induced directly into the blood stream. It could easily kill both undead and humans. They needed a more massive poison to expose the enemy with, something airborn that the Forsaken could keep from getting.

"Yes, yes, yes," he murmered, "Keever likes this. Keever must report it to others." Keever's voice was strictly telepathic, being that he had no lower jaw. Or lower throat for that matter. He had a strip of blood vessles and sinew and muscle, and he had a tounge that drooped down from his upper jaw. He was an undead, a minion of Lady Sylvanis, and an Alchemist. Then he gave his mutated equivilant of a frown, the tip of his tounge curling up and touching his teeth. "But why Keever give them the glory of finding airborn version of disease? They no give credit to Keever. They hate Keever." He pondered for a moment, skeletal hands tapping on the bars of the former human's pirson, watching the man slowly dissolve and die, and finally stop emitting acid. "Keever keep research to self to find poison? Might work... Dark Lady be angry?" he mused to himself, tugging the edges of his maroon-colored hair. Said hair was one of the only things that wasn't prone to falling off. Or out.

"Hey."

The undead lifted his head, looking at the new female that had been brought in as a specimen. She was rare in the Eastern Kingdoms, having mostly Night Elf lineage. However, as she was not human and had a subtly different anatomy from that of a human, she was currently useless to the apothecaries. They needed human test subjects. Without a human, they might as well just use a squirrel or a rat. Or possibly eachother. Her pale purple eyes were watching him with curiousity rather then fear. As all the other prisoners were crying and praying, this was a surprize to the undead. The corners of his mostly missing mouth twisted into a sneer, his tongue and throat muscles twisting and tightening.

"Keever thinks half elf would make splendedly pretty abomination," he taunted, his eye like a yellow coal.

"Erhm... thanks?" Keever tilted his ugly head to the side, decayed maroonish hair whispering over his skin.

"Half-elf say thanks? Keever no understand. Not afraid?" he murmered to himself. "Fool if not afraid."

"...I'd... really prefer if you didn't give me anything designed to maim, kill, harm and or otherwise destroy me." The undead looked at her, chuckling lightly, his throat muscles secreting some blood.

"Why Keever do that?" he cackled.

"I don't know... but I'd just prefer." Bewildered, the undead just eyed her. She was silent a moment, and then she slowly stepped over her cell-mate's body. She had learned to tolerate death and undead- she'd had to tolerate them to survive. Keever watched her curiously as she came up to him. She lifted a hand tentativly to his skeletal one, touching his pointed fingers. "I could talk with you if I remained alive, though. It must get lonely here." Keever grumbled lightly. "And the other undead don't seem to treat you very well." He sneered at this, grumbling to himself.

"Treat Keever like is... stupid... like can't understand." She nodded, moving her fingers tenderly over his decayed hand.

"Not stupid... Just different." He giggled, a hand shooting forward and gripping her throat, yanking her painfully against the bars.

"NO," he insisted."Not stupid. You think Keever not know? You think Keever not understand what you trying to do? Keep pleas for life to yourself. You care nothing for Keever." He threw her away from him, standing up and turning to leave.

"Well," she said, unphased, "You are the ugliest thing I have ever come across, but that can be tolerated. Despite how you talk, you sure as heck aren't stupid." He paused, eyeing her, and then left. Keever returned to his personal quarters, sitting down at his desk and leafing through a magic book. Beside him was a magical device found within the head of certain constructs. These golemns emited a toxic vapor that- if enhaled directly not far from the creature's head- proved to be lethal. Unfortunatly, this poison diluted quickly in air, but a poison was a poison all the same.

* * *

Mahi Mahi (Not the fish)  
(Continued)

Keever was about as relaxed as a dead guy with some type of personality disorder, no throat muscles, and a severe irritation with not being able to open a magical box could be, when suddenly The cat hopped up onto his desk, sniffing his arm curiously. Keever started, surprized, and glared at The cat. The living- oh how he hated the living. Keever growled lightly through his decayed, half missing throat and sneering upper lip. Then he returned back to his studying, examining the magical device that he held in the other hand.

After some time, Keever grumbled to himself... He could NOT figure out how to open-. The cat meowed, nosing the box, and said box suddenly sprang open, unfolding into a smaller layer. Keever jumped, looking from it to The cat. He snorted at The cat, sneering again, but set the device down. It was now in a state he could break down... he would finally get his hands on that poison...

* * *

Human  
(End of The Frozen Throne)

Demons ripped apart the seams of the world. Undead tore through defenseless villagers, cannibalizing their carcasses. A prince killed a king and sent a race into chaos. Orcs ran into the room like beasts, drooling blood and saliva. These mammoth green monsters stormed in, surrounding the one stable figure in the entire whirl. The Admiral stood at the base of it all, fending off undead and demons and orcs alike. And then a Mok'nathal's axe ripped into his back. A troll's staff cracked against his blade. In the distance, a Far Seer's lightning bolt punctured through his chest. Then the mad orcs backed off as a Human girl, a tiny slip of a creature a bit over five feet tall, ran forward to her father's dying body. He sneered as he saw her, knowing why he was dying. He knew the orcs had slain him...

Because she helped them in. The horror his eyes filled her with made her turn away, as she asked, weakly, why he wouldn't listen to her. She looked up to see the Mok'nathal- gruff but compassionate, nodding his head lightly in respect to her. The orcs were not beasts but beings in green skin. And the Far seer parted his lips as if he desired to say something. But the girl looked back at her father.

The Admiral was no longer there. A demon had replaced him, and it grabbed her, clawing at her, biting at her. The undead poured in, slaughtering the orcs and humans. They came to her, biting her flesh, ripping her apart, as demon and undead vied for possession of her dying body.

The Dream continued much this same way, until it was suddenly broken by Jaina Proudmoore sitting bolt upright in bed and screaming, shrieking at the very top of her lungs. Her eyes contracted to pinpoints and she whipped her head to the side, vomiting. Servants who heard her knew what was wrong. A Nightmare. The sorceress had gone through the same nightmare, every night since her father's death. Sometimes she had it twice.

When the weak and trembling Jaina Proudmoore, stubbornly rubbing tears from her eyes, slowly returned to slumber, her mind was already frantic and on edge. Another nightmare might have driven her mad right then and there. But instead she dreamt a memory... a vivid memory...

Dream  
(End of Reign of Chaos)

Jaina hefted her staff, looking down at her camp. They were the survivors- those who had fought valiantly to prevent Archimond's ascent to the World Tree. They would return to Theremore soon, the island they had claimed as their own, and begin construction of their citadel. The Horde, Alliance, and Night Elves had formed a tenuous pact… hopefully it would last. Which reminded her… She needed to speak with Thrall… She needed to make sure that her people would be able to live safe and unmolested by the Horde. She would have to go alone, with no escort; she needed to be _positive_ of the Horde's intentions. Jaina sucked in a breath, steeling herself against all the prejudices she'd ever been fed in her life.

Instead, she remembered Thrall's face when he realized that Grom had spread the blood curse to his people once more. She remembered Thrall's inner turmoil, remembered him begging her for any way he could save Grom without killing him. She had helped him, half bewildered. She'd never known that an orc could humble itself so entirely. He could not be a monster- not when he was so filled with life. He was almost… _almost_ human.

Ironic, as from what she knew, the man who had raised him had been an advocate of the gladiatorial combats and had forced Thrall to compete. How could an evil man raise such a polite and intelligent creature? Thrall's finesse in battle was unmatched. More surprising was that his finesse in the normal languages, both in speaking them and in writing them, was almost unmatched.

Then, slowly, she started down the path to the orc camp. She notified the guard of where she was going to be, and insisted that no one be sent to follow her. To be assured she would be left alone, she teleported directly outside of the orc camp. Nervously she raked through several strands of her hair. Then, hardening her eyes and composure, she approached the camp. The guards looked at her a moment before letting her pass, bowing lightly. Jaina smiled softly and nodded back.

Jaina "I've come to speak with the War Chieftain. Tell me, if you would, where is he?" Both gestured to the War Chief's tent, and one of them offered in a guttural, barely distinguishable form of common, to escort her there. She was silent a moment and then nodded, following the orc into the camp.

* * *

Orc  
(Continuation of the Dream)

Thrall was looking over the defensive plans for his territory, pondering to himself. He was startled as his wolf gave a sharp growl, back arching. Thrall looked immediately at the wolf and slowly eased the Doomhammer into his hand. He turned, watching the door, silent. "Warchief? Miss Jaina, the Human Sorceressis here to speak with you." The Orc War Chieftian blinked and frowned. He reached over and gently stroked his mount's back, soothing the massive animal companion. Then he turned, pushing aside the tent flap and looked down at the guard and the small sorceress. Jaina smiled weakly up at him. He nodded to the guard, who returned to his post, and then crossed his arms over his chest. The silence stretched for a moment and then he prompted her,

"You wanted to speak with me." Jaina nodded.

"I wanted to talk about... the safety of our individual peoples. To be entirely truthful- the safety of my own people." The orc looked at her a moment and then nodded.

"You want to be certain that I will not turn on you once this is over with..."

"Not so much that... I think... you are an honorable being... but will you stop your people from turning against us...? There has been... a long, long hatred between our two people. It would be... a change for the better, I think... if we could compel our individual peoples to cease that hatred..." Despite himself, he smirked lightly.

"Life is never that easy, Miss Jaina. But yes, it must begin with someone. We might as well try a truce now."

"I merely wanted to hear it from you." He blinked, lifting a brow. "Formalities are one thing. Hearing it directly from a leader is another." The orc tilted his head to the side as his massive mount came up beside him, sitting down and eyeing Jaina evilly. "

"We're constructing watch towers all along our western boarder. We should be able to stop any large disturbances from reaching your camp from that direction." Jaina blinked and her eyes widened.

"Augh, I completely forgot- The guards should be able to handle small things, but if there are any demon groups reforming around us-..." She tore nervously at her hair, looking tense and lost. The orc regarded her a long moment with obvious distaste.

"You surprise me, sorceress. Against Archemond you proved to be a skilled tactician. And now you are already planning poorly?" She blushed scarlet, but decided to speak anyhow.

"All I know of tactics I learned from listening to my father's stories as a young child. You must forgive me if men do not often boast of how they set up guards, but rather how they made stunning moves in battle. I am not a leader or a warrior. I am a mage. I'm trying to fill those rolls, but I'm sorry if I come short in a few categories." This seemed to be a soothing explanation, for the distaste quickly evaporated from Thrall's countenance. "Oh, if only my father could see me now... being beat out in tactics by an orc. He'd have a fit." She lifted her head, looking up at Thrall. "Fortunately, that prophet taught me something about forsaking pride. You have any advice on what I should do? I must warn you, at least half my men are drunk already." The orc War Chief found a grin on his face as he nodded.

"Indeed, Miss Proudmoore. I would be happy to educate you. Perhaps you can help me with a perplexing problem involving Infernals-"

"Just dump water on them, they go out like a light." He blinked and then turned a weird blend of red and green. Jaina grinned, covering her mouth. "It seems, Master War Chief, that you have evolved to such a high level of tactics you are now incapable of stupid, but workable, ideas. I, the irrepressible human, will aid you in the indevour of recovering such skills, if you would grace me with your infinite knowledge of the finer points of sustaining a camp." The red faded as the grin returned to the orc's face.

"You've got to learn to watch your mouth, little sorceress. A less intelligent orc would think that derogatory."

"Indeed. Are you a less intelligent orc?" He gave a light laugh, and gestured to his tent. She smiled and came up to him, following him inside. The wolf growled and she stopped short, looking at it. She lifted a brow and then growled right back. It, in turn, arched a brow and looked from Thrall to Jaina. Then it let out a yip and its tongue lolled out of its mouth, its tail wagging. Of course, it was now Thrall's turn to lift an eyebrow.

"I think he likes you."


	2. Empathy and Hatred Vie

(As soon as the expansion pack comes out for WOW (Granted that they release an expansion) we will probably find out what happened to poor Illidan. To the best of my knowledge, the poor misunderstood, good intention filled but slightly evil demon hunter is still alive. However, only time will tell what the heck happened to him. If you read this after the expansion pack, SO WHAT? Maybe you'll enjoy it.)

* * *

**_Empathy and Hatred Vie_**

* * *

Keever  
(Continuation - During World of Warcraft)

Keever 'smiled', pulling the enchanted venom pendant from within its once-sealed container. Excited, he laid the pendant down on the desk beside him, and pressed the edges of it gently. A stream of poison secreted forth. He cackled softly to himself. He took a step to the side, almost fell, and cursed softly; touching his leg, and looking down at it.

The undead apothecary did not often find that any battle was required of him. However, while he had been opening the magical box, a captured abomination had somehow managed to get free. It had beenfloundering through the Undercity, hacking apart whatever it came into contact with (Including several innocent pedestrians). He and his brethren, of course, had been forced to bring down the Abomination, as it had entered their district. Unfortunately for poor Keever, he was a mad genius, not a fighter, and had gotten a meat hook imbedded in his leg. Though it caused him no real pain, it did prevent him from walking properly. To boot, he did not have the fastest regeneration in the world. The wound was bandaged, but it would take many days before he could use that limb properly again.

Keever grumbled himself, looking at the pendant. He needed a test subject... preferably inhuman, as he already knew it worked the same in all living creatures...and he was far too feeble and wounded to try and catch and force feed one... A smile crossed Keever's face, and he giggled softly, looking over at the cat.

* * *

MahiMahi  
(Continued)

The cat sniffed the cat food he had set out for it, and then looked up at him, practically arching an eyebrow, as if saying, "Do I look stupid to you?" Then it promptly turned and bounded off without a bite. The undead stared, baffled, as the poison was scentless. He grumbled to himself, went back to idly sifting through his spell books, furiously trying to figure out how to get a test subject.

There was no way he could catch The cat- he was still weak. So he was surprised when The cat hopped up onto his desk, offering him a huge, terrified, still-living rat. He blinked, staring at The cat, and slowly reached forward. The cat deposited the rat daintily in his hand and then backed up, eyeing him.Keever eyed The cat a moment, his fingers closing quickly around the rat; the rat ofwhich gnawed on his skeletal fingertip. ThenKeever quickly took some of the poisoned cat food, and shoved it into the rat's mouth. The small creature swallowed it, began twitching, and promptly expired within a small amount of seconds. The poison was very strong. Keever smiled, his tongue rubbing against the roof of his mouth, clearly pleased.

"Perfect, Perfect, Keever like," he murmured softly, reaching out blindly for the pendant. Again he was surprised by The cat. He felt the pendant pushed into his hand, and he whipped his head around, looking down at The cat. It was sitting there, the pendant clamped gently in its teeth so that no poison secreted. Keever blinked, slowly taking the offered pendant and eyeing The cat distrustfully. He looked at the pendant in his hand a movement, and then slowly set down the dead rat, reaching toward The cat with his hand. It moved its head back as his skeletal fingers approached it, and sniffing his fingers before allowing him to pat itlightly on the head, satisfied he wasn't going to poison it. Yet.

Keever withdrew his hand, sneering lightly, and proceeded over to his alchemy table, squirting out some poison and starting to analyze it. In needof blood to test with, the undead was surprised to find the cat sitting there, holding the necessary red vial in its teeth, tail winging slowly back and forward. His eyes narrowed and he reached backwards into a pouch of spell components. There was no way this creature could be a simple animal... With a spurt of energy, he fired a dispel at the creature. It jumped lightly, surprised by the flare of blue light, but then it just eyed him as if he were crazy or something. Keever blinked, taken aback. It was not polymorphed or a familiar. Perhaps it was a pet of some mage or druid? They sometimes developed near sentience- but no, that was impossible. Sentience they developed, yes, but not the ability to read minds. He eyed the animal critically, his fingers gripping the alchemy table tightly. Then he promptly picked up his staff and swung it at the tiny creature. It jumped out of the way easily, growled at him, and dropped the vial.

The thick vial fell to the ground, but did not break, bouncing lightly and developing a crack. He was thankful it hadn't broken- undead blood tended to be too far decayed to make a good testing medium for poisons and several other alchemists were currently busy in the prison room- he didn't have time to draw blood. However, he scowled at the cat, eyes flaming, and picked up the vial. He stood, turned around, and went back to experimentation.

* * *

Half Elf  
(Continuation)

Keever smiled, looking over the results of his test and putting the pendant away. He needed to rest, to regain his strength...

**"BOO!"**

Keever jumped, spinning around to stare at the half-elf female behind him. His eyes widened. She was _free?_

"How-?" he sputtered, backing up.

"Fiddling with the lock a bit. Not like I can escape though- I don't stand a chance here." His brows narrowed and he eyed her.

"Why not run, Keever wonders?" he inquired dangerously, his hand moving into a pouch of spell components at his waist.

"Oh, I'd just run into something even more deadly and painful." She moved to the alchemy table, looking over it curiously. "So, is this like your lab or something?" The undead growled, causing her to glance back at him. "What? I wont touch anything, I promise. I'm a bit of a klutz, anything I touch seems to break."

This didn't seem to reassure him, for he growled deeper.

"Oh, be quiet. You left that poison you killed my cell mate and that ghoul with on the table behind you along with a dagger. I could've killed you already if I thought it would do me any good." Keever blinked, looking over his shoulder to see the poison lying there. His hand clenched as he picked up the dagger, bathing it in the poison.

"And what if Keever kills you with it?"

"Well, that would be very wasteful of you," she said, picking the dead rat up by the tail. "Frankly, I'd prefer you kill me whatever killed this guy. It doesn't look half as painful." Keever's brows furrowed as he watched her.

"Keever thinks you know and accept you are going to die here, yes." She nodded, dropping the rat and going over to look at his spell books. "Why you not run? Abomination give kinder death than Keever or other scientist."

"Yeah well, see, that's the problem. I might not be afraid of dying, but I've got too much instinct to just sit there and get hacked to pieces by an abomination. I couldn't do it. The will to survive is too strong."

"Yet not run. Keever wonders why?"

"I don't know anything about this place. Running would be just as bad as sitting in front of an abomination. I can't speak Gutterspeak or Orcish, only common, so I can't read any signs. I have the same chance of finding the exit as I do of finding the throne room. But if I stay here, maybe I'll learn where the exit is and live long enough to escape again." Keever frowned. This half elf was a very, very, very strange creature. "Anything I can do to persuade you not to kill me soon?" Keever scowled and then giggled, his tongue rubbing against the roof of his mouth, and decided to pick one of the most disgusting things he could think of.

"Okay, Keever play game. Kiss Keever, deeply," he giggled out. He was not prepared for her coming up to him, putting one hand to his destroyed throat and the other to his cheek, and doing exactly as he bade her, his tongue moving into her mouth. Out of the two of them, she showed no indication of vomiting (yet). He happened to be the one_ severely_ freaked out and disgusted. He grabbed her by the shoulders and threw her off of him, sputtering and wiping his mouth and tongue with his sleeve. "KEEVER WAS JOKING!" He said, exasperated. She grinned down at him from where he'd pushed her into his desk.

"Thank goodness, that was disgusting." He snarled in agreement, wiping his mouth again. Then he glared over at her for a long, long moment.

"Go back to cell," he muttered. She obeyed, covering a grin on her mouth. She found it funny he was more grossed out then her, and she had a feeling he wouldn't force feed her poison any time soon. Absently she made a mental note to never, ever, kiss anything- especially any undead-ever again, even if it meant her life. It just wasn't worth it.

* * *

Ketala, Elemental  
(End of Frozen throne)

Ketala stirred from her place by the fire, her tiny hands gripping the blankets around her. Something nearby was very cold. Her eyes opened slowly and she looked around. Above her, there was a ghoul. Like a devil-infested animal it was scanning the area around it tirelessly, single-minded in it's order to protect the tiny female. The part elemental tilted her head to the side. Then she lifted a hand and tentatively touched its foot. It didn't even notice her, already having identified her as the thing he was ordered to protect. The little child smiled, lifting a hand to the ghoul's grasping, moving fingertips. It paused the scavenger-like motions of its hands, its fingers going still, as her tiny hand wrapped around one finger.

Something strange was happening. Her elemental aura permeated the things around her, augmenting their power. But it also permeated the ghoul's senses, sharing with the ghoul her thought pattern,her curiosity and innocence. Propelled by this as it was by the commands of its superiors, the ghoul's rotting fingers gently wrapped around the elemental's hand. It lowered its rotting head. Another curious hand examined its face, innocent and unafraid. Apparently death did not frighten the tiny part elemental. The ghoul examined her like a tame dog as opposed to the wild one it had been moments ago, its teeth nibbling her blankets as it smelled her, grunting like an animal.

But the tiny Ketala only had an aura-she did not have the ability to command undead. So when Kel'Thuzad commanded it back to its duties as he approached their location, it quickly snapped back into a scavenger, releasing the tiny child and scampering off. Ketala watched it move off, silent. Then she looked up as Kel'Thuzad moved up to her. He was silent, his blue eyes emanating their magic aura. Then he knelt down and picked her up. He emanated a sort of cold, but near the fire it was not so bothersome. He cradled her against his skeletal chest as she curiously examined his ribs and even teethed on one. This caused him to bare his teeth in another, strangely occurring smile. Then he fed her with the milk-soaked cloth again and she relaxed, curling up against him. When she finished 'nursing' she yawned, her tiny fingers latching onto one of his ribs, and she fell asleep.

(Some Months Later)

Ketala giggled, crawling away on all fours. She'd quickly mimicked the ghouls around her and was crawling speedily, ducking behind rocks and under abominations, forcing Kel'Thuzad to chase her. The Litch didn't bother trying to freeze her in place. He was skilled with his powers, but he had no desire to accidentally kill the small girl. Her body was still mortal and very frail, and he would not be forgiven if he put the elemental to an early death. Besides, Ketala's mind was radiating glee. She wasn't running, she was playing. Besides, it wasn't like he had anything better to do at the moment aside from meditate- and he'd already been meditating for sixteen hours straight. With what remained of Kel'Thuzad's original personality, the litch remarked that meditating could be awfully boring sometimes. He blinked, looking around, having lost track of the small girl. Her heartbeat, steady as always, alerted him to her presence, and she looked over to see her clinging to the leg of a random ghoul, giggling. Kel'Thuzad sent a mental message to the ghoul, and the undead servant picked the girl off his leg and brought her over to the high litch.

Kel'Thuzad took the child in both his hands, dismissing the ghoul. Amusing or not, he had repeatedly told her to stop. That deserved punishment. His claws dug lightly into her back, scraping across her ribs. The tiny child's eyes widened mid-giggle, and she choked off and screamed, turning her head and looking up at Kel'Thuzad over her shoulder, confused. Kel'Thuzad looked back at her emptily, feeling no satisfaction in what he was doing. But he felt no regret or pity for the small creature, and proceeded to dig a claw into her shoulder blade. She wailed pathetically, her small fingers gripping his bloody ones. He was the source of comfort, not pain, and her tiny mind could not comprehend what was happening.

_"Bad. Do as I command you, Ketala, or you will feel this pain again."_ She quailed, tears pouring down her tiny cheeks, starting to hiccup. He was empty, feeling nothing what so ever. But he drew his talons from her back and took her back to the fire, gently cleaning and bandaging up the wounds. She clung to him the whole time, slowly calming down, her hiccupping ceasing. When he was done he picked her up in his arms again and she wrapped her arms fully around one of his skeletal ribs. _"Do as I command you. And as your master, the Litch King, commands you."_ She was too young to understand. All she knew was that the source of her comfort was cradling her. The world was back as it should be.

Idly, the litch wondered why Ketala felt pain but no fear.

He wondered, if he were to kill her, what would go through her mind? He would yet find out. As soon as she was mature enough, she would be sacrificed to the Litch King, to be raised as his loyal servant. Kel'Thuzad, of course, would be the hand that slew her.

He tilted his head to the side as her arms wrapped around one of his ribs. So carefree and innocent... So affectionate... Perhaps he should have been less lenient and more disciplining. Still, her powers were growing at an astounding rate. That indicated to him that he wasn't doing anything wrong yet. And how she was in life made no difference in how she would be in death. Death stripped soul, and with it, all emotion.

* * *

Kel'Thuzad, Litch  
(End of Frozen Throne)

Kel'Thuzad sighed, pulling a spear tenderly from where it was lodged between his ribs, looking around. At once he was aware something was not quite right. His mind raced, analyzing for what could possibly be amiss. Sorting through the logical possibilities, he came across his problem at once. The tiny, irritating heartbeat was missing. He looked around, scanning the battlefield for Ketala.

_"Ketala?" _No answering telepathic greeting assailed him. Ketala could not talk yet, even telepathically, but she was skilled enough in mind to signify she heard him. Kel'Thuzad stiffened, seizing the minds of all those under his command. Nothing… He couldn't hear her heartbeat no matter what set of ears he used.

_"Kel'Thuzad."_ The high litch shuddered.

_"I will find her, my master. I will not fail you more."_

_"Your free will irks me, litch. I command, and you obey. You do not anticipate. You do not fail." _Kel'Thuzad's blue eyes turned whiter, paler

_"As you command, my master."_

Ketala, if she was alive, was going to receive punishment. What was left of the litch's personality after Arthas tightened his grip on Kel'Thuzad, signaled that she had caused this failure. She must be punished. The other part of his mind,which was now strictly the litch king's will, believed that the child deserved no warmth. It had to be fed and kept alive, and taught to fight. It would be punished horridly for its disobedience.

One might wonder why the Litch King had let his grip on Kel'Thuzad's mind lax. The reason was probably because he knew Kel'Thuzad was undyingly loyal to him. Another reason was that what was left of Arthas was in a… twisted way… a friend of Kel'Thuzad. He _liked_ what remained of the litch's personality.

There. An abomination detected a heartbeat. Kel'Thuzad moved towards the direction of the sound, and his own mind picked up the soft, subtle beats of Ketala's steady heart. There was a moving object not far in the distance and the litch approached it, powering up a nova spell in his hands. On further inspection, the object bewildered him. It was a huge cat cub, the size of a miniature horse, and draped over its back was a half conscious Ketala. She signaled weakly with her mind, calling to him in her pain. Kel'Thuzad moved forward, reaching the cat. It did not snarl at him or jump, just merely waited patiently while he pulled the wounded girl from its back. Apparently Ketala was not at fault. She HAD been right behind him. That was… she had been behind him until an abomination had fallen, its arm swatting her down like an insect. She had a few broken ribs and a shallow cut in her arm. Surprisingly, she was not crying. The little girl was merely looking up at him with that same innocent expression, no fear in her eyes. Her heartbeat had never once altered.

Arthas retracted his mind from Kel'Thuzad's, and the litch's eyes returned to their frosty blue color. Arthas had long ago given up his humanity, and Ner'zhul, too, had all compassion stripped from him. He might have wanted to punish Kel'Thuzad, but that could wait.

As we have said, the litch was one of the few undead capable of mirth. He would be able to nurse the child back to health with ease. The Litch King, having **no** real emotion, was incapable of such a feat. The big cat scampered off, leaving Kel'Thuzad holding the small, silent child. He had no idea why the cat had helped her up or why he hadn't killed the beast. He didn't understand why the child wasn't crying, and he had no idea whether to punish it or not. Finally, he simply turned, and walked back to the camp. He set the young child down next to her fire as he mentally instructed the rebuilding of their base camp. The Human raid- the cause of this battle- had been quick and swift. Without Kel'Thuzad's, Ner'zhul's, and Arthas's combined intelligence, the Scourge might have lost this key battle.

The high litch tended to the little girl's wounds, properly tending her injured ribs and bleeding arm. Healing was not an art that undead really needed to learn. They needed to be able to patch injuries to encourage regeneration sometimes, but that was it. And, of course, there were no clerics around to heal the tiny child's wounds. So, Kel'Thuzad would have to do. Calling on the meager whole of undead knowledge of first aid, he managed to properly clean and care for her wounds. Then he wrapped her in her blankets and lay her down by the fire.

One of Ketala's tiny hands reached out, wrapping around one of Kel'Thuzad's claws. With what was left of him that was still human, Kel'Thuzad squeezed her hand. He next batted her hand away, and then went impassive again, pulling back and staring off into nothing. He was an undead. He could not feel compassion… or thanks… or any type of care…

But again, like when he punished the small child, he was greeted with an overwhelming sense of emptiness. What not even the Litch King realized, was that emptiness was the only way Kel'Thuzad _could_ express anything. Kel'Thuzad was expressing affection the only way he could, without really having a soul within him. He expressed emptiness, complete and entire lack of feeling, a void in which there _should_ have been an emotion. Love.

The evil, twisted being known as Kel'Thuzad, who had near-willingly given up his own soul to Ner'zhul, looked down at Ketala. She looked up at him just as silently with her strangely whirling eyes. Almost as if she knew she wasn't in trouble. As if she knew she was safe. How could such a tiny child know such things? Maybe she knew what the emptiness was there for, too.

* * *

Zul'jin  
(Continuation- End of Reign of Chaos)

The demon brought its massive flaming fist downward, only to be blocked by Zul'jin's battle axe. On the other side of the infernal, a holy sword cleaved through the monster's leg. It shrieked, a high, piercing sound, and promptly fell backwards. Zul'jin spun around, decapitating a fellstalker and getting tackled by its dying body. He grunted, shoving the disgusting beast off of him and then walked over to the dead infernal. The tip of a holy blade was protruding through its head... so that meant...

Zul'jin put both arms under the boulder that once had been the head of an infernal. He lifted it up off of the Avarial beneath it and she grumbled, yanking her sword out of it and crawling out from under the rock, dragging a broken leg after her.

"Something tells me that the temple we are looking for be just as desecrated as this forest, woman," the Troll said, examining his body for any severe wounds. The Avarial grunted, setting her leg as her wounds regenerated.

"Yes," she said darkly, bitterly. "It appears the world has even undergone some changes since I last left it." He smiled beneath his cowl, pulling out some woolen bandages he'd made and patching up a severely bleeding gash on his left arms.

"What do you want to do, elf? Press onward?"

"No, the old temple will be defiled by now."

"Do you have a better solution?" She shook her head.

"Not unless you think I can disguise you as a very, very tall human. Or a Night Elf." He grunted. Evidently dressing up like an elf wasn't appealing to him.

"Anything else?" She pondered for a long, long moment, and then nodded.

"We can go south. There are still orcish outposts in Azeroth." Zul'jin groaned.

"Long walk."

"I could always carry you." He glared at her, as if daring her to try. She grinned evilly, cursing lightly. "South we go then, eh?" He snorted, nodding.

"I have nothing better to do. I'm with you, woman." She nodded, standing up and stretching her wings out. Then she lightly gestured with her head behind him, her eyes hardening. He took the hint, gripping hisaxe lightly. There was a snarl and he whipped around, decapitating the succubus that charged at him. He blinked, looking at the demonic body as it collapsed. "Dang. I always wanted one of those too..." She snarled violently, slapping him in the back of the head as she walked past him.

"Shut up." He snarled but then grinned, rubbing the back of his head and following her.

* * *

High Elf  
(Continued)

(PS: If any of you people play dungeons and dragons out there, you might have once, long ago, played a half orc character. And it's just possible, that if you played a half orc character, you played a female half orc. And it's just barely possible that, looking for a name, you checked in the player's manual for a female orc name. And there you would find the list: Baggi, Emen, Engong,** Myev**, Neega, Ovak, Ownka, Shautha, Vola, and Volen.)

Myev grimaced lightly as the Troll came up beside her, his lengthy stride slowing to match hers. He was a disgusting creature and she hated even being this close to him. Still, he did have a tendency to get her out of trouble. On her own, it would have taken a lot longer to get that infernal head off of her. They walked in silence as he pulled out his tomahawks, examining them, checking them for flaws. They walked in silence, must as they did during the first leg of their hike, only broken by sparse quibbling and curse words. Myev was silent a long moment, and then decided to finally break the long silence.

"Why do you hate elves?" He looked at her, lifting a brow.

"Why do you hate trolls?" he retorted in his gruff, low voice. She blinked, eyeing him.

"Cause they hate and persecute the elfin people."

"Your people persecute mine."

"Only in repayment-"

"So no elves have ever struck at the trolls first? Ever?" She went silent, just walking beside him, pondering over this.

"The Horde and Alliance are the same way. They try to be allies... but there is so much hate in them... " She smiled, lightly. "They already have proof of where that leads to by what's happened to our people. Both sides get wiped out by the undead." Zul'jin looked over at her, surprised.

"_Both_ our peoples? What happened to yours?"

"The Undead swept through, crumbling our defenses. They fouled the waters of the sunwell in order to raise one of their own back as a litch. The High Elves are now scattered, and the survivors have fled to a different, demon infested world." Zul'jin fell silent, staring at her. "At least, even if the Trolls are scattered and broken, they're not madly addicted to magic, and they still have homes."

"Sad the way both races have fallen," he murmured, "both broken by the same war."

"Maybe that's why my Demigod sent me to watch over you. Because both our people were plagued by the same fate. Maybe there's something we can do to fix it all." He gave a short, harsh laugh, but he nodded all the same.

"Mayhap. I cannot see any other reason any god would spare me."

"I think we're going to have to declare a truce to work together." He eyed her a long moment and then grinned.

"Why not, elf. This is already weird enough." They lifted a hand each, almost absently, and joined them together tightly, almost as if they were trying to squeeze the other's finger's off, each trying to outdo the other. It was probably the first alliance of Troll and Elf in the history of Azeroth.

* * *

Varimathras  
(Continuation - Onset of World of Warcraft)

Varimathras examined the maps of the Undercity and Plaguelands, reading over the reports and trying to divine the exact troops Kel'Thuzad had at his disposal. He stood up from his chair, walking over to a table, and looking down at the nearest reports. Among them were reports about various poisons in Sylvanis's attempt to poison the life out of the humans... and to obliterate the undead... His hands descended onto the table, tightening, his talons cutting into the hard wood. If they succeeded, Sylvanis would rule over all the Eastern Kingdoms. She would be the dominating force in the land, having met all her goals, the most powerful being on Azeroth. And then, he knew, the undead would slowly commit to peace. Peace! He quivered lightly, as his muscles tense, as he dug his fingers into the wood.

Sylvanis wanted revenge, but she wanted safety for her people, and she wanted the elfin race to survive. Despite all her malice and cruelty, the Dark Lady was not exactly a force of evil. And this, in essence, was the problem. Varimathras could exist in one of two societies. He could exist in a corrupted society, filled with power, and flame, and pain... He was also a creature of chaos. He could exist in a normal world, if only given goals to meet. If given battle, matches of wit, zeal of fighting, prisoners to feed off of, and a constant, ever-changing need to survive.

Varimathras could not exist in a world of peace. He was a creature of Chaos and Evil, and Peace defied both those alignments. So one, final question prevailed in the depths of his mind. What would Sylvanis do with him when this ended? What would Sylvanis do with him when she no longer needed his aid? True, she would let him survive till he had out lived his final usefulness, but what about after that? Would Sylvanis kill him as soon as he had outlasted his value?

"Come now, Varimathras," a voice murmured from behind him. He whipped around to see Sylvanis there, smiling lightly, her gray eyes blazing a soft blue. His wings tightened against his back and he half knelt in respect, before standing up and looking at her.

"My Lady?"

"Come now, you overestimate me." He looked at her, blinking. "I am not a demon yet," she said, coming up to him. "Not like you. _Yet_. I need not kill something that has outlived its usefulness.." She turned, looking over the maps, and then moved toward the exit. After a moment, she stopped, and looked back at him. "It would be a shame to lose something that has served me so well for so long." He swallowed and then stepped up next to her.

"Is there something you want of me, My Lady?" She regarded him silently a long, long moment. She was in her traveling cloak, which indicated to him that she had been out, and judging by the way she held one arm, she was hurt. He was silent a moment, and then reached out, pushing her cloak aside and taking her bloody arm. She turned her head away, breathing heavily, and he blinked, looking at her, surprised. She looked upset, almost, like she had come in here to taunt him and, thus, make herself feel better. He could not understand why- she could not really feel pain, and the wound could be sealed, even if a part of it had been carved off. As a banshee, she neither rotted nor decayed, so he could only wonder why she was upset. It was not like Sylvanis would mind that she bore such scars. The only thing that would bother her was if she lost her hand or something like that, and was thus crippled-

Varimathras paused, staring at her hand. The pointer finger had been ripped clean off. This was her main hand. She could no longer hold an arrow in it. If she damaged her other hand, it would end her career as an archer. He was at a lost for words. Being a demon, he was not exactly well versed with how to help someone deal with depression (Though he was knowledgeable on how to make it worse), and he was certainly not skilled in the art of comforting a fellow being. He just stared at her silently a long moment, before tenderly wrapping his hand around hers. If she remained depressed, there was always that chance she would direct her anger at him. He had to try something.

"There's a chance to regenerate it, my lady... a troll's blood potion would help..." She sneered violently, and he feared he was about to get hacked at. "And if you hurt your other hand, you'd find a way. You're too good of an archer not to." This seemed to pacify her, so she yanked her hand from his, shoved him brutally into a wall, and stalked off. He grinned after her, nodding to himself.

"Went well. At least she did not lose her whole hand. Still..." He stood, watching her go. "I wonder what she was fighting, that it was strong enough to actually harm her...? I'll wait to ask when she's not as angry."

* * *

Jaina  
(End of The Frozen Throne)

Jaina left the meeting room, rubbing her temples. Every day it was the same. These defenses needed to be built up. That needs to be done. This needs to be done. A letter is handed to her strongly recommending she consider breaking all alliances with the horde. An emissary trips over himself trying to insult the horde and not insult the horde at the same time. She almost wished she had never tried to reunite her people, had never reestablished contact with Azeroth.

They were all like her father. They just didn't understand- didn't want to understand. Jaina walked up to a nearby balcony and peered down into the street below. A scowl formed on her face at what she saw.

Of all the various treaties and customs that the Eastern Kingdoms had forced upon her, this was by far the cruelest. She was to allow free passage of all Human persons through her lands. Below her, a raiding party was forming. Above everything else, Jaina hated the raids. From her island they surged all over Kalimdor. Sometimes, they clashed with Night elves. More often then not, they used her land, HER land, as a launching point for a raid against the Horde. Sometimes, their raids were paid for by their leaders.

Jaina hated the raids, because her father had _died_ to keep Theramore and the Horde united. These raids made his death in vain. They made the nightmares worse. They prejudiced her people against the Horde, the Horde which was their real lifeline in this world. Theremore's people had bled alongside the orcs in battle for many years now. They had almost formed a bond of trust…

And her father, her beloved father, whom she had cared about and loved since she was old enough to even stand, her father who encouraged her to learn about ships, even though she was a girl… Her father had ruined all that… And now, foreign Kings from Azeroth widened the gap. Humans clashed more frequently with the Horde, and emissaries watched her every move outside of the castle to make sure she was not 'betraying' her people to the orcs.

It would only be a matter of time before war broke out.

And yet Jaina could do nothing! Nothing! She ruled her own island kingdom, and yet she was completely and utterly helpless to prevent war with her greatest ally. Because she could not turn on her own people. Maybe she was too weak.

Jaina Proudmoore sighed, moving into her room and shutting the door behind her. She would study magic today… that's all she really ever did. Study, plan, study, plan… The young sorcerer froze, staring down at her hands.

_"Jaina… Jaina you IDIOT!" _She nearly laughed with joy, stepping out into a clear part of her room. Jaina Proudmoore was a master of the teleportation spell. She was rather sure she could teleport to the Orgrimmar throne room from this far away. Thrall had listened to her patiently last time she had gone to him. For weeks, she had visited him often, learning the finer points of tactics and raising a camp. Thrall was an intelligent, honorable creature. Maybe he would know what to do. Besides, she had not seen the War Chieftain for a long time. She needed to meet with him in person, to assure him she meant his people no ill, and to apologize. She and Thrall could work something out.

Besides, she couldn't just leave her people to fall into another dark war. She had to be responsible. She had to _stop_ this somehow.

* * *

Demon Hunter  
(Right after The Frozen Throne)

Illidan Stormrage screamed, jerking madly in his sleep. His whole chest was on flame and freezing, pain screaming through his senses. But it went beyond pain. It was a deep void within himself, sucking him in, ripping him apart, eating at his very soul. Something touched the wound, causing him to convulse and vomit. And then, suddenly, it fed him with life. Life appeared in the void, eating at the freezing, burning death. Life stretched out to him, embracing him and holding onto him. Life filled all the holes in him where Frostmourne's blade had drained him of soul and mind.

Life soothed his pain, filled the void, and safeguarded his soul. Slowly, slowly he calmed, his fevered body relaxing under gentle strokes. A voice he could not recognize was gently murmuring his name. Two voices he did recognize talked softly behind it, but did not interfere. Illidan Stormrage stilled after a long time, his breathing coming in soft, pained shudders. He had been destroyed by Frostmourne, and Life had reclaimed him. He was allowed the shock his body was in. He was allowed his moment of frailty, of child-like, helpless need. No one could have retained composure after having gone through that.

When the Demon Hunter was finally calm and still, he felt the same gentle hands peel back something- warm wet blankets- from one of his hands. His fingers ached the moment they touched open air, as if they had been mowed down into ragged, useless stubs. The gentle hands fed Life into them as well, spreading a cream over his aching fingers. The pain subsided as the warm cloths were wrapped back around his hand. He felt a hand gently caress over his face, as tender and maternal as mortally imaginable. Someone was trying to comfort him, to ease his torment. He sighed weakly, his mind losing its grasp on reality. Questions about the frozen throne, and the maternal creature holding him, about the Draenei Akama and his people… about Kael and Vashj… All his questions vanished. His broodings about Arthas and Maive dissipated. And his mind, stripped down, floated into memories of Tyrande… This time, it was not even the vague desire he had for an alternate reality… for Tyrande to love him… His mind wandered to her just as she was- if nothing more, his friend.

Illidan stirred lightly. He'd promised he would always look out for her. He had to live. He couldn't let her down… But reason slipped into dream again. Soon, Illidan Stormrage slept.

Safely.


	3. ExtendedConflict AndHealing

Oh by the way. I don't own Blizzard Entertainment. If I did, no more cool main charecter would die :P FENIIIX! NOOOO! TASSADARR! NOOOO! LACHDANAN! NOOOO! ZULJIN! (Well we don't know what happened to him) ILLIDAN! NOOO! (well, he might not actually be dead) GROM! NOOOOOO! KERRIGAN! NOOOO! (WEll, tehcnically, she didn't die... sorta... kinda...) DUKE! (Well, actually, duke blows...)

Bare withme on account of any misspellings or charecters you don't recognize (I assure you, ones that just get added in randomly ARE found in War III and World of Warcraft. YOU WILL MAKE IT!)

And somebody! _Please_ review! I can't be _that _terrible a writer! (I hope o.o!)

* * *

**_Extended Conflicts and Healing_**

* * *

Ketala

(Some months later – End of The Frozen Throne)

The little part-elemental sat next to her fire. It was probably the one spot of warmth and comfort in all the Plaguelands anymore. Her future mount, the huge spotted, shaggy cat cub that had rescued her some time ago, was curled up around her, purring softly in its sleep. Ketala wrapped her blankets further around her and continued sharpening her dagger.

"Thrash?" she asked softly, innocently. The cat stirred, giving a big, feline yawn, and looked at her. "I'm bored. Can you take me to go find Guardian?" The cat gave the equivalent of a grin and straightened out. Ketala smiled, grabbing the cat's shoulders and pulling her light body to ride on the mount's back. It gave a weird, half snort, half meow, and trotted off, smelling around for the aura of the litch. There was a grunt as a ghoul moved between them and their path. It was ordered not to let the female run off. Ketala blinked, turning Thrash so that she was sideways to the ghoul. Then she reached out, gently touching its fleshy head. Immediately it was a puppy, grunting and sniffing her, obediently coming up beside Thrash. Ketala giggled and Thrash started off again, the ghoul following along side her. The trio found the litch at last, gazing over the Plaguelands and conversing with Anub'Arak. Immediately, the Nerubian Lord's head turned and he looked at the female. Spikes protruded through his carapace, but he was immediately assured that this creature was the Elemental spirit. Kel'Thuzad turned, looking back at her as well. She smiled as he turned, Thrash hopping up onto the rock that the two leaders were standing on.

"Small, isn't it?" Anub'Arak murmured, looking at the female.

"She is still young. While she ages faster than a human, she is no more than a child," Kel'Thuzad replied. Then his eyes narrowed as he saw the ghoul at her side. "Ketala. What did you do?" She blinked, looking directly at him. "I told you to stay at your fire at all times. How did you get that ghoul to stop blocking your way?" Ketala blinked, puzzled.

"I… don't know…" she said uncertainly. Then she looked down at the ghoul and patted it gently on the head. The creature grunted, rubbing its ugly head against her hand. "He just likes me, I guess. Like Thrash does." Kel'thuzad stared at her as the ghoul rubbed against her arm, chattering in a sort of purr.

_"She is a strong psionic," _Anub'Arak and the Litch King said in unison._ "Teach her to use her abilities properly. You are dismissed."_

_"My king…Your control is strong, but she is not undead yet. What if she ends up like Sylvanis?" _

The Litch King took this into deep consideration, ignoring that Kel'Thuzad had contradicted him.

_"Then instate in her that her gift is wrong. We will train her when her loyalty is bound to my will." _

_"Yes, my master," _the litch returned, and glided over to the girl.

"You disobeyed my command to stay at the fire." She looked up at him innocently.

"But you let me follow you all the time… You never get mad so long as I'm protected…" His eyes narrowed.

"You are to obey my every command- as well as your master, the Litch King's. You will stay at your fire. And you will never, ever again use that power in you that makes other things 'like' you. Do you understand?" She nodded, looking down.

"Can I keep Thrash?"

"Yes. You need a war mount. Now go back to your fire and hope I do not freeze your legs off when I get back." Her heart beat went mad. It caused Kel'Thuzad to blink, watching her as she bounded off on Thrash, heading back for the fire. The ghoul was left there, its mind now half alive, half insane, and it waited for someone to tell it what to do, or for Ketala to come back and reinstate its primitive mind once again.

Ketala waited by her fire, stroking Thrash's thick coat. When Kel'Thuzad came up, his eyes were paler. Her heartbeat, steady and still, went insane, hammering in her chest as he came up to her. What was left of Kel'Thuzad's soul was overwhelmingly empty, as he reached forward and picked her off the ground.

* * *

Kel'Thuzad  
(Continued)

Kel'Thuzad spent a month treating the little girl's wounds, both mentally and physically. The first indication that his discipline might have been too severe, was that she started panicking whenever he came near, her heart going wild, but at all other times she was calm and normal. This was frustrating, for, while she never disobeyed him again, he couldn't tend her wound properly, he couldn't feed her, and the emptiness just got more and more enveloping to the point where it was practically driving him insane.

He sighed, looking down at her as she cowered against Thrash, the cat cub looking quite vexed with Kel'Thuzad, and looking like it wanted to claw his non-existent eyes out. She'd never shown fear before. She didn't show fear toward anything else that harmed her. This bewildered him. Slowly, Kel'Thuzad knelt, gently picking up the small child. She quivered violently, looking up at him, her fingers wrapping around her hand. She was now around the equivalent of a human eight year old, and was maturing in random spurts and random slow spots. Slowly he drew the child against his chest, his analytical mind sorting through all the possibilities of ending this annoying 'conflict'. He went back to the last time he had felt her hart beat race- when he had dug his claws into her back. She had calmed when he'd tended her wounds and cradled her.

Well, she was partly human. Maybe affection would soothe her. Tenderly, Kel'Thuzad stroked her shoulder and cheek. She hiccupped, quivering, and he lowered his head, drawing her more tightly against him and rubbing her back and shoulder gently. He felt her small hand grip his right tusk, holding on tightly, and he bared his teeth, smiling.

"Poor Ketala," he murmured soothingly. "If you do not disobey, I will not hurt you. Shhh…" She calmed slowly, her hand moving from his tusk to his rib cage and both arms latched onto him. Her tiny heartbeat slowed. He was getting used to the sound now- it was no longer as irritating as before. He stood, carrying her into the building he used as a planning room. Even as he soothed her, his mind was elsewhere, and he regarded the maps strewn across the table in this room. He would let her stay with him until she fell asleep, and then he would take her back to her fire. The litch rested down a seat, scanning a map with his eyes and pondering. He was interrupted by Ketala moved her arms up around his neck and hugging him tightly, and he sighed to himself, tilting his head to the side and cupping her cheek gently with one tusk.

She was so small… so frail…

"I'm sorry Guardian," she murmured brokenly, and he could feel warm tears splash against his cold aura. "I'm sorry I made you mad!"

The litch's flaming blue eyes dimmed, his skeletal arms slowly moving around his ward. He did not regret having power. He did not miss being alive- being a pathetic Human. He was glad for undeath, for the powerful release it gave him, and the freedom to pursue his powers…

But for the first time since the lure of the Litch King took hold of him, he… perhaps, missed his humanity… He felt nostalgia, one of the few, few undead emotions, for the lack of sorrow… for the lack of compassion he had.

His heart was barren and empty, safe for this nostalgia, this yearning for more… For a stirring of emotion- any emotion, even hate, by this child's embrace.

But he felt nothing. No anger or repulsion… Nothing. He was empty.

"I love you guardian." She pulled back and kissed him on his boney cheek. Then she let go of him and he did likewise, watching her hop to the floor, smiling up at him.

"Go back to your fire," he said simply, and she obeyed- _skipping_ off. The litch watched her go, silent, folding his hands in what he had of a lap.

She was maturing quickly. He predicted only a year or so more would be needed until she was ready to be slain. And then Arthas would have his weapon. Kel'Thuzad smiled at that thought. The world would know the fury and might of the Scourge once more. This child would make a perfect new champion to ride at the head of his armies. The emptiness faded and he filled with power, with the Litch King's will. At last the Scourge would prevail… The Litch King's eternal will would encompass all.

* * *

Illidan  
(Right after The Frozen Throne)

Illidan Stormrage moaned softly, shifting lightly. Everything hurt, but the void in his shoulder wasn't as gaping as it normally was. He tried to reach out with his second sight, his awareness, to see what beings were around him, but his mind and body screamed in complaint, so he stopped. He was, effectively, blind. A soft chuckle came from beside him and he tensed, turning his head toward it. The sudden motion gave him a quick headache, but he fought it back, one of his ears twitching.

"I see you are up," the feminine voice murmured. "Good. Your friends, or minions, or whatever you desire to call them… were worried that you would die for sure."

"Arthas-" his suddenly spat out, half sitting up. The void in his chest didn't like this, and it burnt horribly into him. He gasped, shuddering, and gentle hands eased him back against the bed.

"Arthas joined with the Litch King. They are now one. Do not brood on that." He 'looked' up at the speaker, surprised at that last sentence.

"And who are you to order me?"

"It not be an order, Illidan Stormrage, it is common sense. When you have a huge demonic blade wound through your chest, can barely move, and need to worry more about your own survival then past failure in battle, it is common sense not to brood, but to plan." The speaker gently pushed hair out of his face, and tilted his head up, pulling his hair out comfortably to the side. "Though, in your condition, I would discourage both. You need rest to heal your broken body. Do not preoccupy yourself with thinking too hard until you are better. You do no one any good by delaying your recovery. A sneer formed on his face. "And don't look at me like that. You would be a good sight worse than dead if my people hadn't found you. By the time Kael and Vashj could fight their way to where you lay dying, your soul would have already been consumed by Frostmourne. At least if you fail fleeing Kil'Jaden's wrath, he can only offer eternal torment. Frostmourne would be far worse." The sneer faded, replaced by a frown.

"How do you know so much, creature?"

"A magician never reveals her secrets." She said, tapping him on the nose. He grunted, annoyed by her, and she laughed. "Come now, relax and sleep, and you might be up in a day or two. You've got more to be worried about then one irritating healer, and the only way you can do anything about it is to sleep."

Life poured into him again, once more refilling the void, and he trembled lightly, his tense muscles relaxing.

"Vashj and Kael?" he said slowly, his mind moving off to his second in commands. They were under his protection- he needed to worry about their well-being.

"They are fine, and most of your troops survived flight from IceCrown."

"Where are we?"

"At Northrend's southern border."

"Arthas is not coming after us?"

"No, he is waiting as he regains his power, building up his forces around IceCrown. He probably believes you to be dead."

"We should return to the Outland…"

"Oh? And trade one demon infested bog for the other? No, Kil'Jaden would expect you to run back to Outland to lick your wounds if you'd lived." He stirred weakly, already feeling himself slipping into unconsciousness.

"Where else can I go?"

"Back to Kalimdor. Tyrande will take you and Kael in. When you have recovered, set up a place in Fellwood, and help them liberate the forest of demons. They will not mind your Naga then. The safest way you can go is back to the Night Elves. Their abundant nature energy will hide you from Kil'Jaden's eyes long enough for him to concentrate on more pressing matters- like destroying Arthas."

"You know too much."

"What's the problem if I use my knowledge to benefit you?"

"My mind is not exactly whole." He felt her maternally stroke over his hair.

"Oh, I'm sure we can find the pieces somewhere. I find a few more of mine every day." She laughed lightly and patted him on the shoulder.

"Get well, Illidan Stormrage. Your new 'people' need you."

* * *

Mixed-Blood  
(Continued- some time later)

The Demon Hunter moved lightly. He gave a shudder of pain, but his body obeyed him this time, and he sat up. Immediately one hand went to the bandaged slash over his chest and he hissed in pain. He looked down at himself, wrapped in blankets and healing salve. His hands, arms, feet, and legs were all bandaged individually, and he unwrapped one of his hands, looking at it. It was slightly dehydrated, and it hurt to move too much, a deep penetrating coldness emanating from it. His spectral sight was working again.

Frostbite. His savior was, also, somehow, healing him from frostbite. That's why the first time he woke up, his hands and feet had hurt so badly. He moved his hand around a bit, getting the feeling back into it. A hand took his, gently, and he looked up at the being standing before him. She was tall, at least eight feet tall, a surprising height for a female. She was strong muscled and had two enchanted weapons with her, probably swords

"Well," she remarked, "you're looking considerably more purple today, which I must infer is better than icy blue." Illidan snorted.

"What are you, healer?" he inquired, examining her.

"A healer." He frowned, growling lightly, and she laughed. "I be a half troll."

"Half elf," he murmured, looking at her with amusement.

"Indeed. I am a walking irony. You feeling better?" He was silent a moment, and then nodded slowly. She smiled, flooding his arm and hand with Life. He quivered, unable to keep from relaxing as the weakness and pain evaporated from that limb.

"Thank you…" he said after a moment. It took effort to say- but he managed. She smiled, nodding, and let go of his clawed hand. "How long have I slept since you last woke me?"

"A day and a half. I told you you'd be up soon." He was silent, peeling off bandages and checking his other limbs. All were free of frostbite and healing well. "Keep your feet bound up. Those were the worst and will take the longest to heal." Needless to say, he ignored her, and was rewarded with a biting sting. He jerked, causing the wound in his chest to spit pain all over him. Instantly the female's arms were around him. Life energy sated the void once more, and soothed the pain in his feet. "I told you," she said, scolding him. After a moment, she let go, and re-bandaged his feet. He made a face, but did not complain. Then she helped him un-bandage his wings, and checked over them to make sure they were healing properly.

"Why did you help me?" he inquired as she went over to a pack and stooped, picking up some robes and tossing them to him. She was silent a few moments before answering.

"There was a battle in which two Betrayers fought. Both were demons. Both had brought great curses on their people. Both had started off with good intentions, but both had been taken by the lure of power. And both fought for their own personal gain." She stood up, looking back at him. "But only one of them ever attempted to right what they had done. Only one still had a soul, no matter how corrupted it had become. So I saved that one."

"So you picked the lesser of two evils?" he inquired, amused.

"You bleed violet, not black, Illidan. There is still hope for you." He smirked.

"You are naïve for knowing so much."

"Ah, but Illidan," she said, coming up to him and smiling into his face. "Arthas betrayed _everything_."

"How is that different than what I've done?"

"He betrayed the woman _he _loved in return to power. And we know very well that that is the one, single price _you_ would never give." Illidan fell silent, staring blindly at her. "At least you, Illidan Stormrage, can still feel some measure of compassion. You even managed to worry about Kael and Vashj, though they were far from your prime concern." He said nothing, staring after her as she stood up and turned, moving toward the exit. Then she paused, looking back at him. "If you want to get up, put those robes up. They're enchanted, as you've probably noticed, and will keep you warm in this frigid climate. Do not exert yourself. You are not yet completely recovered." Then she turned, and left. He snorted, pulling on the robes, feeling the magic embedded in them. There were even holes for his wings, and he spread out said limbs, getting the feeling back into them. Then, slowly, painfully, he stood, and moved out of the tent.

* * *

Blood Elf  
(Continued)

Kaelthalas Sunstrider looked up as the troll exited Illidan's tent. He had been putting wood on the fire, but he hastily abandoned his post, going over to her.

"Is Illidan well?" he asked her, tying his hair back to keep the wind from blowing it in his face.

"Of course not, he got cleaved open by Frostmourne. But he's conscious, yes, and with his stubbornness, he'll probably be following me out any time now." Kael smirked. The troll was a strange creature, but she had quickly and easily restored mirth and hope to the combined Blood Elf and Naga peoples. She and her 'clan' had managed to spirit Illidan through the undead and back to her camp. She had patched up his chest wound to keep him from losing any more blood, and she had used that strange, bizarre energy she wielded to keep him alive. Then she'd sent out scouts to help lead Vashj and Kael past the Scourge armies. In short, the troll had saved all their lives, and had quickly won the Blood Elf Prince's trust. Her very presence seemed to fill a room with a gentle, calming aura, and her spirits roused the foulest mood. Kael nodded, bowing his head lightly to her.

"Again, lady, I give you my highest thanks. I owe you the lives of my people- and my leader." The troll smiled but then looked back at the tent.

"Take care of him," she said softly, and turned, walking off. Kael blinked, watching her, and then looked back at Illidan's tent as the demon himself walked out. Illidan looked around a moment before his 'gaze' rested on Kael.

"Greetings, Sunstrider," he murmured. Kael bowed his head in respect and then came up to Illidan.

"Lord Illidan. Are you feeling better?" He grunted.

"In reference to what?" The Blood Elf smiled lightly. Illidan was in good spirits. It seemed the troll had the same effect on him. Illidan turned his head and looked at the Troll walking away. "What name does she go by?"

"Zul'vii, lord."

"What do you think her motives are?" Kael blinked and fell silent, thinking to himself.

"To my knowledge, lord? I don't think she has any." Illidan grunted, evidently not pleased with this answer.

"Everything has a motive, Sunstrider. Everything. If something does not seem to have a motive, it is an illusion. I want to know what her gain is in this." Kael nodded slowly, though he felt a bit like he was betraying the Troll's trust. "She mentioned a 'people'. She seems forest troll, not ice, and I do not know of any forest troll clans this far north. Why are her people here?"

"Her 'clan' isn't exactly all troll. It's a mixture of various different races." Illidan looked down at him, his wings flexing lightly.

"Such as?"

"Primarily Satyr, though they have everything from orcs to humans. They're very strange, my lord, just like Zul'vii is herself…" He hesitated, looking for the words to explain what he meant. "I'll show you, my lord, if you'd follow." Illidan eyed Kael a moment, before nodding and following him down the snowy slope.

They came to a small cliff and Kael gestured to the camp below. It was filled with the sweet aroma of various foods. His ears picked up laugher. Real, untainted laughter of an innocent mind- a sweet sound he had not heard in a long… long time… But most astounding was that all their auras blazed with vibrant white hot energy, swirling with traces of druidism, shamanism, and holy whirls. He watched Zul'vii approach them, her aura reaching out to every single one of them, causing their own auras to blaze even hotter. On a thought, Illidan looked over at Kael. There, twining through Kael's good intentions and magic-addicted blood, was a similar swirl of blazing white fire. He was healthier in Illidan's eyes, his arcane power rising even though he wasn't pulling any energy from Illidan.

Illidan's eyes narrowed at this. What was this Zul'vii, that everything she touched was affected by her? That she could increase strength like this and fuel happiness? True, Kael was not affected very much, so it took time for her taint to seep in. But this was power he had never encountered before, all the same. The only creatures he knew that had such a tainting aura were demons- but he would recognize a demon at first sight. Zul'vii had no demonic taint within her whatsoever. Illidan brooded darkly to himself. He had to figure out what this half troll really was… He had to figure it out before anything happened to his new 'people'.

* * *

Naga  
(Continued)

"Where is Vashj?" Illidan asked after a long moment.

"Bathing in the hot springs. She hasn't touched water since we brought you here, Lord Illidan, and it's been a good few weeks. I told her to go." Illidan smirked.

"Perhaps we should visit her." Kael looked up at him and nodded, leading Illidan down the hill and to the house that sheltered the hot springs. Illidan stopped at the hot springs and thoroughly examined the building. "This has been here a long time."

"Yes. Vashj and I believe they have many camps, and this is one of the more permanent ones."

"Find out if this is where they normally stay this season." Kael nodded as Illidan walked into the hot springs. Immediately, they were greeted by Vashj, who had already redressed in her armor.

"Lord Illidan," she hissed, coming up to him and bowing graciously. "We were sorely worried for you."

"Enough, Lady Vashj. What do you think about our half troll hostess?" The Naga smiled, having anticipated he'd be suspicious of Zul'vii. She looked up at Illidan, pondering her answer for a long moment. Then she replied,

"I do not like her, my Lord. I have lived too long in a world of darkness to see such kindness as true and honest… But she has not yet given me much chance to disbelieve her intentions are pure. I have sent 'spies' close to her, and Kael and I have used far sight spells to try and discern her intentions…"

"But so far," continued Kael, "we've come up with nothing. She just likes healing. It's like she's a natural born healer, everything around her that's un-hostile benefits from her presence. A score of Blood-Elf healers could not have kept you alive- yet not only did she save you from that wound, but from frostbite as well!" Illidan snorted, his hands flexing, as he thought.

"Is she a pacifist?" he asked suddenly.

"We have not gotten a chance to see," Vashj answered, "but I am sure we could devise a way to find out."

"Do that," he answered. "I want to see if she fights- and how she fights." Both his loyal servants nodded and hurried out of the hot springs. Illidan Stormrage waited till he was alone, and then clutched his chest weakly. He moved up to a hot spring and sat down, letting his bandaged, cloven feet dip into the hot water. It ached… but oh it felt so good. The heat penetrated the hooves deep inside the bone. "What are you, troll? How will you use me, like all others do?" He sighed, pulling off the robes and dropping into the hot water. The wound in his chest screamed angrily at him, but at the same time, it was if he were healing. He sake up to his nose in the steaming water, and he relaxed, his thoughts fading…

But this time his mind did not wander to Tyrande. It wandered to Arthas, to Maive, to Kil'jaden, and even Furion… And then, it wandered to Zul'vii. What would be the next blow that struck against him?

* * *

Thrall  
(End of The Frozen Throne)

The Orc Warchief smiled, stroking the fur of his massive mount, listening to his council. In a strange way, he was luckier than Jaina. At least only HALF of his council desired to end all alliances with the Humans and Elves. And his most trusted advisors understood the necessity of having the Humans around. Jaina Proudmoore, it was evident, meant no offense to the orcs. She had sacrificed half her kingdom and her father to maintain peace, so there was no infringement of their alliance on her part. Plus, Jaina and all her people were the greatest ship builders of the time. Trade with the alliance ensured a quick sale, and quick goods to purchase from them, as their boats could traverse the great ocean faster than any others. Vol'jin, leader of the trolls, understood this. He had met Jaina himself, and knew her to be a courageous young being. He and Thrall had fought for the survival of their people along with the young Human and had prevailed, ridding the land of the demon Archemond once and for all…

Such ties of blood and honor could not be easily broken. Still, he wondered why the Human raiding parties seemed to be getting worse. It was to the point that any Humans not baring the seal of Jaina Proudmoore herself, were slain upon entering Horde Territory. Cairne, when he could afford to make the pilgrimage from Thunderbluff to Orgrimmar, fought valiantly for the alliance with the Night Elves. The Tauran and Night Elves nearly never came into conflict. Both believed in preserving the land and respecting nature, and thus both got along with perfect ease. Thrall, to boot, was always willing to add that it was Jaina, not an orc, who procured the soul orb that had been used to safe and purify Grom Hellscream's soul… and thus had liberated them from the demon Mannoroth. This, as always, silenced the council and their bickering. They owed much freedom from the demons to Humankind. They could wait a little longer before encouraging their leader to take action. As the council filed out, Thrall sighed to himself, looking over at Cairne.

"I am not sure, my friend, how much longer I can stand up against their hatred. Their grievances mount each day, and each time the council is drawn together, more and more of them desire us to break with the Night Elves and Humans."

"I have dispatched many ambassadors to the Night Elves for diplomacy," Cairne said comfortingly. "The closest one to here is in Azshara, and is making great progress."

"Yes, let us make the Night Elves comfortable… while our own people seethe with hatred." Cairne looked sadly at Thrall. Vol'jin sighed and then blinked as a circle of ruins opened up in the floor. Immediately, Thrall's other three advisors jumped to their feet. The blind Shaman prepared a spell whilst the two others drew out axes.

"Warchief. Teleport spell, mon." Thrall was already staring at the runes, watching them spread out in a rotating circular pattern. His hand tightened on the Doomhammer, and he stood up. And then a slight, 5'2" figure materialized in the center. Jaina Proudmoore stepped out of the teleport, looking around and smiling tentatively up at Thrall. Thrall blinked, eyes widening. Then a grin spread over his face.

"Long time no see, little sorceress."

"Thrall," she said quickly, stepping towards him. "The raids… It was never my intention to harm the weak trust between our races- If I'd know before I'd contacted Azeroth-" but Thrall was already nodding.

"I understand. You would not have come here, alone, if you had meant any grief. But why did you not come sooner?" Jaina blushed crimson, and looked down at the ground.

"I felt trapped, drawn toward an infallible destination of war. I thought I could stop things from my end. And, in all honesty, I really forgot I had this escape route of teleporting. But I can't... stop them anymore." She looked up at him. "This has to stop… Somehow this has to stop, but I do not know how to halt it. Every day I am bombarded with letters- practically commands, _ordering_ me to end all relations with the orcs. Some people even want me to end relations with the Night Elves! I am forced to play cheerful hostess why they send their men through my land and form into raids- having snuck it into treaties that I could do nothing about it. My father and scores of my fellow humans died because of beliefs like theirs. There has already been so much death- I cannot let a slaughter like that happen again! To either race! It's not worth it! I cannot turn on my own people… but I cannot let this alliance crumble! Not like this, not after so much has been done to preserve it!"

Thrall was smiling and nodding sympathetically. He'd even laid down the Doomhammer, coming up to her. She was practically in tears, and her frustration and sorrow encouraged him that there was something in the Human race to preserve- the honor in people like Jaina Proudmoore. And her pleas for help only helped him realize that the poor human was even more plagued then he was- she was seen as insignificant. And yet, she was managing to rule an entire country- she who had confessed, herself, that she was a sorceress, and needed help to lead her people.

He set a large hand on her shoulder and she stopped talking, breathing heavily. Thrall tilted his head to the side, noticing the black circles under her eyes. How long had it been since she'd slept? And how long had she been wearing those clothes? They were still stained with… blood… The Admiral. Thrall looked about to say something and then his face fell into sadness as he took the hem of her cloak in his hand, looking at a splash of blood on it. Jaina looked up at him silently. No wonder she had not slept in so long. He certainly owed her his aid.

"I need help," she said brokenly. "There are no humans I can turn to. Please help me. There has to be a way to stop this, and I'm out of ideas." He nodded

"Yes. I will help you. How long can you be missing for?"

"I don't have a meeting till next week," she said wearily. The orc nodded.

"You need rest. Come, we can talk, and you can have something to eat and sit down." He steered her gently out of the throne room to a side meeting room. She went docilely, out of breath and will. Every single other entirety in the room watched them go, and Thrall nodded lightly to Vol'jin. Then they disappeared into the side room.

"… She looked distressed," said Cairne after a moment. "And tired…"

"Ja," continued Vol'jin. "I think she not be pulling a trick on us." Nazgrul, chief advisor to Thrall, snorted.

"She's just soft," he grunted. "Not iron strong like our ruler. Pitiful things like her should not be in power."

"Actually, Nazgrul," Cairne Bloodhoof said, looking down at the orc, "we both know that Jaina is a valiant leader, and a stalwart combatant, even when the odds are overwhelmingly against her and she exhausted. If she is this distressed, then affairs back at Theramore are entirely out of her hands. From what I gathered from the weak amount I know of Common, she was speaking of emissaries from Azeroth practically taking her kingdom from her."

"Then she should break from them!" the orc said defiantly.

"You would not break from the Horde if you disagreed with Thrall, would you, Nazgrul?" This quieted the chief advisor for a moment. "Jaina is a proud creature, as was her father. She would not come here unless she had no other solution. Besides, she has kept her people alive this long. She is merely inexperienced and needs guidance, all of which _Thrall_ has."

Jaina  
(Continued)

Thrall led Jaina up to a chair and she sat down, lowering her head. He left the room a moment and called for a peon to bring certain foods. Then he came back to the young Human. She looked up at him, her neon blue eyes weary and tired.

"Just relax, sorceress. You don't look like you've slept in awhile."

Jaina snorted. "I've been drinking certain teas to keep up my energy, I'm fine." Thrall grinned and patted her gently on the head.

"You need to sleep," he said, as if he hadn't heard her. "But first, tell me everything that has happened since we defeated the odds at the Battle of Mount Hygal. She began slowly, but was soon crying silently, relating the entire story to the best detail that she could. Thrall, strangely enough the perfect gentleman, gave her a cloth to wipe away her tears, and stopped her in order so that she could eat some bread, and cheese, with a light salad and a bit of meat, all with a glass of milk. She felt better afterwards, and continued the story without spilling any more tears, including all the treaties leading up to that very day. She had managed to grab some of said treaties before she left, and showed them to him. He went over them with her very carefully, and slowly they began to find loopholes and small tools to their advantage. He even helped her draft a repeal of a few that they'd found had been violated. He left for a moment to get some more food, but when he returned, he found her curled up in the chair, fast asleep.

Grinning, Thrall located a blanket, and brought it into the room, covering her up with it. She had spunk- that was for sure. And for some reason, he couldn't help feeling responsible for the little Human. She was practically alone. Though it had been in retaliation to attacks on his own people, he had ordered the death of her father. And she reminded him of himself. He had found help in those of his people who were still free. She had no one. Besides, this would dramatically help reduce raids against his own people, and it would encourage trade with Theremore. He was glad to help the sorceress. He patted the human gently on the back, and committed two grunts to safeguarding her room. Then he returned to the main hall, his throne room, where he found Drek'Thul (The Shaman, blind from birth, who trained Thrall as a Shaman. He is Thrall's most trusted advisor. Trust me. I knnnooow) and Cairne.

Etrigg, Vol'jin, And Nazgrul had left for the night.

* * *

Keever

(Some Time later - During World of Warcraft)

Keever sat in his cot, silent, staring down at his leg, silently waiting for it to recuperated. He could not actually sleep, but rest allowed his half-living body to repair and recharge. He sat on his makeshift cot, leaning against the wall, his eyes closed. But he jumped as he felt something land next to him, and he opened his eyes to see The cat crawl up to him. His hand clenched, just about ready to grab it and bash its head into a wall, when it started purring, curling up next to him.

Completely astonished by this animal's behavior (Most animals fled in terror at the first smell of an undead), Keever stayed his hand, staring down at this strange cat. His clenched hand opened and he lowered it, gently patting the small creature on the head. It purred harder and he sighed lightly, petting its ears and head lightly, almost subconsciously. It hopped into his lap and he looked down at it silently, snorting. But its purring lulled him again, and he scratched it gently behind the ears.

"Stupid cat," he muttered.

(Some Time Later)

Keever smiled darkly, looking down at the poison. "Perfect... Perfect..." he murmered, stirring it lightly. "Now... we see if it works..." He set the vial of poison down, and blinked, looking at his hurt leg as The cat rubbed against it. He gave a gruesome smile and gave it a gentle shove with his foot out of the way. He was getting used to the stupid animal. And then, suddenly, something pounced him from behind.

"BLAH!" Keever eeped and slipped, falling, only to be caught by the half elf. She laughed, grinning down at him. "You sure are edgy, you know that?" He snarled, standing up and shoving her away.

"Stupid girl," he muttered evilly. "Maybe Keever test newest poison on you? You hold still now, be very good." He reached over for the vial of poison but she caught his hand, looking at him pleadingly.

"Keever... don't..." He glared evilly up at her, snarling (For she was a good foot taller than him, being part Night Elf).

"YOU ARE PRISONER!" he said, eyes flaming, his one hand dipping into his pouch of spell components. "Keever can do whatever he wants!" With that, he sent a shockwave at her. She cried out, slamming into a wall, and she clutched her arm, looking up at him. His fists were clenched, anger blazing in his eyes, The cat perched silently next to his foot. Then he stalked up to her, grabbing her wounded arm, and yanking her. She yelped, unable to stand properly as he dragged her to the prison. He threw her into her cell and then promptly threw a fireball at the lock, melding the door shut. "Get out out that! Rot in your cage!" he snapped viciously.

"Keever-"

"SHUT UP!" and with that he reached into another cell, grabbing a human by hair and dragging her out of the prison. He threw her into a study and then used a spell to release a ghoul from a prison cell. Immediatly it bounded forward, for him and the crying, begging, female Human. He reached over, setting his hand on the vial of poison and lifting it up, starting to pour it into an emitter. He then gently touched the release, waiting for the ghoul to get within range.

He was distracted by The cat jumping on his shoulder and raking open his decayed flesh. With a mad, hateful snarl, he grabbed it by the neck and threw it on the floor. With a kick of his good leg, he set it flying brutally off to the side. The ghoul came with in range and he released the emitter. The poison spewed in a stream across the room. The ghoul tumbled lifelessly to the ground, but the human female screamed, clutching her stomach as she vomited out several innards.

Keever relaxed, smiling. Then he laughed, chuckling deeply. "So close..." he murmered. "Keever is so close..." Still laughing to himself, he picked up the ghoul carcass, throwing it down a garbage grate. He went about, cleaning up the vicinity to his liking (Which was actually quite filthy), and then started to record things down. Something irked him and he looked around, but nothing was out of place. He scowled to himself and then returned to his studying area, plopping down and examining a book smiling to himself. Into his third hour, he was aware something was very very wrong. He couldn't sit still, and he got up, pacing and examining his lab. Nothing was out of place. Everything was righted...

* * *

MahiMahi  
(Continued)

Keever looked over at the assorted devices he'd collected. Goblin contraptions, Dwarf boomsticks, and Gnome steam driven wonders. He paused, staring at one. It had thick splattering of blood on it and was shoved aside. Odd. The human's internals had been covered in diseased cells- not blood. She had not bled. Suddenly the undead's eyes went wide. He shoved the contraption aside, reaching into the sewage hole behind it. The cat! The cat! Already he knew the truth. He'd killed it. It would be dead. Even if he found it, it would be dead. He'd killed the creature. His skeletal fingers touched wet fur, and he grabbed The cat by the scruff of the neck, pulling it out. It was soaked with sewage water, and sported a broken shoulder and a few thick cuts. But it, surprisingly, meowed unhappily at him.

"Stupid," he hissed at it venomously, standing up and bringing it to his cot. He sat it down and turned, leaving. When he returned, he had a bowl of sewage water. This, however, he purified with some chemicals, and he promptly picked The cat up and sat it in the bowl. It didn't protest, allowing him to clean it and get the grime out of its wounds. After drying it off with a rudimentarily clean rag, he reset its shoulder and splinted it. Then he bandaged up the slices.

During this… strange process (Strange in the eyes of a bystander- how often do you see undead patching up stray cats?) The cat was calm, and, eventually, it began purring. He finished bandaging, and reached up, patting its head.

"Stupid cat," he murmured fondly, and it stopped purring, glaring at him. To his own surprise, he felt a bizarre pang of something almost resembling shame. "She was just a human, "Keever muttered. The cat looked at him as if saying, 'yeah, yeah…. So what?' Keever sneered, 'frowning' down at The cat.

"Who are you to teach _me_ morals?" he asked. "_What_ are you?" The cat just purred, sniffing his fingertips. Keever smiled softly, his upper lip pulling back to reveal slightly decaying teeth. "Why does your presence please me so, creature?" But of course, no answer came to him.

(Heyyyyy another wayyyy too long chapter! . So, anyone have any idea yet who Mahi, Trua, and Curatio are? I'll give you a hint to tell which is which. MahiMahi is evident. Out of the other two, both their names are in different languages. Trua is Gaelic for Compassion, etc. Curatio is Latin for Healing. Mahi is Hawaiian for Strong, if you were wondering.)


	4. Resolution DeathsAndLove

Yayyy! Time for another way too long chapter!  
Sorry anyone who thinks Varimathras is an awesome demonic antihero (I doubt there are many of you). I like Varimathras, but I think he's a coward. He's an awesome combatant, and I'm not showing you much of that, but he is a coward. Don't worry, you'll eventually get to see him fight. Eventually. I hope.

* * *

**_We Come to a Resolution... Death... and Love..._**

* * *

Varimathras  
(After The Frozen Throne)

The Dreadlord screamed in pure agony the maws of a ghoul sank into his shoulder, another one ripping flesh from his face.

"Ironic," the litch in command said, gazing down at these tortures, "that a Nathraziem- of all creatures- would bare such pain when it is capable of ending it so easily…" It knelt down, gripping Varimathras's jaw and neck in one hand, jamming a bolt of frost into the demon's chest. "Come now, Varimathras," he murmured. "We both know nothing will come of your silence. End your pain. We both know Nathraziem loyalty lasts only as long as it is to their advantage." The Dreadlord looked up at the litch, swallowing the blood that threatened to spill from his lips. "Kel'Thuzad's army arrives in the morning, Dreadlord. I promise you, you will never see Sylvanis or the Undercity again. Give up." The Dreadlord bared his teeth, spitting out blood into the litch's face. The litch merely 'smirked,' tilting its head to the side. "Come now, Varimathras. We both know you are a coward. Even Sylvanis knows you are a coward. Why do you think she always keeps you from battle, even though you are one of the most powerful combatants she commands? Because she knows as soon as your life is in danger, you will give up. Your life is in danger, Varimathras. You will die if you do not give up what the Litch King wants."

The Dreadlord shuddered in agony, trying to figure out what to do. Pain flooded his senses, and everything in him screamed to make it stop. How had he even been caught in the first place? There was a raid on the Undercity… He was fighting… and now he was here… Oh, let the pain stop… let the pain stop… He opened his mouth to speak, but it shut. No. No. No life awaited him if he gave in. Coward he might be, but he knew the only way to survive would be if Sylvanis came after him. And Sylvanis would not be pleased if he had failed her.

(Some time later)

Varimathras convulsed, spitting up blood. He tried to open his eyes, but they screamed almighty fury, pain shooting through every fiber of his being. And weakness. He could barely move. Slowly pain dimmed and the Dreadlord groaned weakly, his eyes opening. Wherever he was, was cool… and dark… just warm enough to make it comfortable. He blinked back pain, looking around through his hazy vision, his claws gripping at empty air.

"It's alright, demon. You are safe." Varimathras purred involuntarily. Sylvanis… It was a low, continued, grunt-like rumble, but it was the best the demon's warped mind could produce in response to non-sensual pleasure. Safety… Sylvanis… Safety… His eyes closed, too much energy required to keep them opened. His claws slowly relaxed as he felt something touch his chest. He gave a softer purr, and lapsed into unconsciousness.

* * *

Sylvanis  
(Some time later)

Varimathras woke up, more himself, sitting up and looking around. He was in his quarters, above the Undercity and right at ground level… And to his complete, utter, and supreme astonishment, the only window in the place, once barred shut, was open. Bizarre. Why would any undead open one of the windows? They _hated_ fresh air, and many of them even despised sunlight.

Still, for Varimathras, the fresh air wasn't that bad. It let out the awful smell of the herbs, salves, and bandages currently bound around him. Judging by the light, it was early dawn, and Varimathras stirred, looking around. Finally, he stood up, his cloven hooves gripping the ground lightly.

"Good morning, demon." The Dreadlord looked past the window's light at Sylvanis in the doorway. She came up to him and looked outside, smirking. Then she looked up at him. "Feeling better?" He nodded slowly. "Good. Get back to work." Sylvanis grinned- not smirked, grinned- turned, and walked off. Varimathras stared after her, silent. She was… was… _Cheerful_! There was life to her, she looked outside without scowling, and she hadn't even given him a death threat yet. How was that even possible? Sylvanis was a depressed, morbid little monster, not this blithe… elf… that had replaced her.

She used to be an elf… A part of her still was. But why was it so strong right now? Why was she so lively? He sat back down on the bed, peeling back some bandages and examining his wounds. He hissed as he did so, vividly remembering how each one was gained. But he smirked. Sylvanis had come for him. She couldn't afford to lose his aid. He blessed his decision, his resolve to remain 'loyal' to her. It had saved him death at her hands when she discovered he had betrayed her.

He paused, remembering waking up so weak and helpless… But safe… And now Sylvanis was happy. His brows creased and he vaguely remembered purring in relief….

It was about that time that Varimathras realized he had no control over Sylvanis whatsoever. He was at the mercy of her whims. But, in a strange, warped way, he somehow had the power to please her- to make her happy.

The resulting logic, was that, if she was happy, maybe she wouldn't want to kill him so badly. Varimathras couldn't manipulate her to spare him. But maybe he could please her, and she'd be relaxed enough to leave him alive. It was a bizarre concept, but anything was worth a shot.

He moved over to the defensive model on one of his tables, examining it with his eyes as his mind sorted through how to achieve the best possible results from Sylvanis. It would not be easy. She was too smart. Kindness she would view with suspicion, and affection she would see as seduction. But then why had that purr pleased her so much? …It certainly wasn't affectionate or kind.

But it was real, he mused. He actually had been pleased to hear her voice, pleased to know she was there- and thus- he was safe from any more agony. So complicated… And he was not well-versed in his area of expertise (How often does a demon need to voice simple, friendly compassion?).

The Dreadlord paused and groaned, sinking to the floor and letting his head fall into his hands. How far had he fallen? How pitiful was he, begging for life like a dog for scraps. If his brethren saw him now, they would laugh. Oh pitiful creature he was. And now he was going against every nature within him to please something to get what he wanted. And completely defying logic, knowing that if he ensured her victory and his life, he also ensured peace. It was pure irony. His salvation was his bane, any path he chose. How far he had fallen from what he once had been- ruler with his brothers over the demonic rebellion against the Scourge. Here was the mighty Dreadlord now. Wasted away into nothing more than a slave.

But, he remembered, his brothers could not see him now. They were dead. And he was not. His brethren were corpses, their souls cast to endless void, while Varimathras had somehow doubled his power since Sylvanis spared him. Better a powerful demon in a time of peace then a dead one in a time of war. Besides- the world never staid at peace long. He would have blood and death again. But he would also have victory, knowing he had chosen the winning side. The strongest side. Sylvanis would prevail, and he would see to it. But first, he could do something about delaying that poison she was trying so hard to conjure… The longer war lasted, the longer he would have to build up her trust. Perhaps he would survive this- sanity intact- after all.

Varimathras stood slowly, gazing at the defensive model. Then he pulled out some blank parchment and began elaborating the Forsaken territory's defenses, and making plans for a counter attack. From what he had seen, there was a small gap in Kel'Thuzad's defenses that a small Forsaken strike team could happily exploit. They would pay for their raid on the Undercity.

(Some Time Later)

Varimathras reentered the throne room, holding several scrolls in one, large, clawed hand. He saw that Sylvanis was gone and nodded to himself, setting the scrolls down on a ledge.

"Close your eyes." Varimathras blinked, turning to look at Sylvanis, who was entering the room. He lifted a brow but obeyed, shutting his ice-cold eyes.

There was nothing but silence for a long time. Then ice-cold lips brushed his. He froze as he was kissed, and then slowly lifted a hand, touching a black hood and soft, straight, cold hair. Sylvanis? His lips moved lightly through surprise, half kissing her back. Surprise was an understatement, his mind in chaos and whirls. Subconsciously, his clawed fingers folded gently against her shoulder blades. Varimathras made a light, pleased sound, starting to kiss back. He pulled her against him, careful not to cut her with horn or claw. His furred legs trembled. Being recurved, they jutted a bit in front of him, before curving backwards up into the high ankle. Because of this, they rested on each side of her. Gently, he squeezed them against her hips and legs. His tongue slipped in her mouth as he slowly moved, rubbing against her. Instantaneously he found a spiked shin guard in his lower regions. This alone was bothersome, though it was a pain he could deal with, but she shoved him backwards and planted an arrow into the side of his neck, causing him to shriek and jump backwards into a wall, sliding to the ground.

"You are disgusting," Sylvanis said darkly. Varimathras, of course, said nothing to anger his master, but his mind shrieked out –You kissed ME!-

"A kiss," she said, "Is different. It is set apart from what you assumed."

"How?" he asked venomously, looking up at her with burning eyes.

"A kiss does not necessarily signify lust."

"Oh? And what else could it signify from you?"

"Affection. Or what left of it I can still feel." Varimathras's lower jaw, literally, dropped an inch, and he gawked at her. THAT was CERTAINLY not something he'd been prepared for. She had told him he had overestimated how must like him, how much like a demon she was. She had been right. He'd forgotten she was mortal. Completely forgotten, as if the spark of her prevailing life did not leap out constantly to demonstrate it was still there. She, who knew him, knew how twisted and dark he was, she, the most brilliant of all leaders he had so far met, felt affection for him- the demon. Oh, she was mortal indeed. He was almost ready to laugh when she said, "You are confined to your quarters indefinitely. If you attempt to leave, my banshee's are under orders to rip you to shreds and bring your broken form before me for further judgment." She moved out the door, and as an afterthought, she looked back at him. "Oh, and Varimathras?"

"Yes, My Lady?" he asked hoarsely, alarmed by his ordered confinement.

"Don't disappoint me. I'd enjoy your shrieks too much to stop myself tearing you apart piece by piece. But I really can't afford to lose your advice." She left, and Varimathras swallowed, quite aware that- despite if she felt any affection at all- Sylvanis WOULD carry through with her promise. He had been wrong. Sylvanis was above him and always would be. Admitting affection for a demon was her way of saying, 'No matter what I feel, you are no more then a pet on a leash. You have no power over me.' He decided it would be in his best interest to go immediately to his room… And not incur her wrath any longer.

* * *

Half Elf  
(During World of Warcraft)

Keever smiled, holding some mutton over The cat's head and teasing it. The cat jumped for it once and then eyed Keever, as if saying, 'Give me the mutton or you're a dead-er man.' He laughed lightly and dropped the mutton. The feline caught it in its mouth, pulling it apart and eating shreds of it at a time. He waited till The cat had the whole thing in its mouth again, and then he lifted it up, setting it on his shoulder. The weight was not so bad, and his leg was healing.

"Keever," a shrill female voice called out. Keever flinched, looking toward the doorway to his room. "It's your turn to feed the prisoners, you dim-witted creature. And don't you dare slip anything into all their food like you did last time." Keever snarled, his tongue twisting. He hated her… It was not like he'd forgotten… Keever turned, going over to the meat and bread he'd bought earlier that day. He grumbled and then cast a simple levitation spell, propelling the rather old food into prison chamber. Unceremoniously, he threw the food into random cages, and turned to leave. The cat meowed, hopping off his shoulder, and he blinked, turning and following it up to one cage. It meowed again, dropping its mutton and slipping between the bars. He followed it with his eyes and froze at what he saw. In the cage there was a grotesque, deformed monster. It looked half dead and sewn together at random areas like an abomination, only it had no hands or feet, only hooked blades on its multitude of disgusting, fluid-leaking limbs. But the face of the creature was one he remembered.

It was the half elf. Keever went quiet, staring at the poor creature, watching several exposed organs move with semi-normal life processes. The cat rubbed against her face, meowing, and she stirred, her eyes opening slowly. She looked at The cat silently a moment and then lifted her eyes to Keever. She was silent a long… long… time. When she spoke it was weak and frail, no life left within it.

"Kill… me…" Keever just stared, feeling some strange form of guilt. After some time, he knelt down, reaching into the cell and gripping two sturdier looking limbs. He pulled her to the side of the cage, looking at her with pity.

"Poor half-elf," the undead said simply, and drove a dagger through the side of her head. She twitched and went still, her blood pouring over him and spurting lightly across the ground. He looked silently down at her dead body and then patted her gently on her cheek. "No more pain now… Free…" He fell silent and nodded to himself, standing up and looking around for The cat. He found the animal sitting beside him, looking silently at the dead female. "… Am sorry," he said to both of them, and picked up The cat, setting it back on his shoulder. It didn't protest, just regarded him silently, as he walked away from the cage.

* * *

Myev  
(After Reign of Chaos)

Myev groaned, lifting her head and looking around. That was odd. The last thing she remembered was walking with Zul'jin… and now she was in a very orange place. The dust was orange. Flying islets were orange. Even the mushrooms seemed to be orange as well as blue. She propped her head up on one hand, and sighed. It would be her luck to step into a small dimensional rift created by a summoning Burning Blade warlock and end up in the middle of Outland. The feeling started returning to her numb body and she realized something was right next to her. She turned her head to the side and discovered that Zul'jin had been teleported to Outland as well. He was still unconscious, and the two of them had been holding one another in a tight embrace.

Within 30 seconds, Zul'jin was brought wide awake by a long, evil string of curses; and by being shoved hard into a rock around 10 yards away. He growled, rubbing his head as he looked up at her.

"What the hell is up with you, elf?" he grunted out, sitting up slowly.

"STAY AWAY FROM ME YOU DISGUSTING DUNG HEAP!" Zul'jin decided not to mention she'd been hugging back, and he stood up slowly, stretching his long limbs.

"So, where are we?" Myev stopped swearing, crossing her arms and looking around.

"By the looks of it, we ended up accidentally getting caught in some kind of portal. Or who knows, maybe someone cast a portal on us to get rid of us. Anyway, I think we're in Outland." Zul'jin looked at her, perking up.

"Where's that?"

"A completely different world." Zul'jin frowned darkly.

"And let me guess, unless we find a temple of the light out here for some hitherto unknown reason, you cannot teleport us back."

"That would be correct."

"We seem to get in a lot of trouble, elf."

"Indeed. But we always got out of it before this." Zul'jin snorted and stretched his arms behind his back.

"So, is there any life on this barren rock?"

"Well, there are these highly distorted chicken-like fish-like people called Draenei. And a wide variety of demons. But that's about that."

"Oh well, in that case, come here, I don't want to die virgin." He burst out laughing as she slit a huge gash through his arm, and he gestured to settle down. "Kidding, kidding elf-angel." She looked about ready to decapitate him and she glared evilly at him. "You're too ugly anyway." He grinned fiendishly, pulling out some bandages and patching up his half-useless arm. Then he hopped down a small cliff and looked at her. "So, are your chicken/fish people friendly?" Myev eyed him dangerously a moment and then wiped off her blade and sheathed it.

"I am not sure. I have not heard much about this place since the orcs left. But this is where the high elf people went- and they aligned with the Draenei. Perhaps they can offer us a way home. But first we have to find a landmark. I have no idea where we are." Zul'jin snorted, nodding.

"Always walking. You think we could at least get something to ride on, but nooo. Always walking." He sighed, mock upset, and she elbowed him. Then she blinked, looking up at him as they started to walk.

"Wait a minute. You're the highest troll chief that's come around since before the first war. You'd have your pick of mates. And you're a virgin?"

"Aye, isn't that another irony?" He grinned evilly at her. "I be ugly even to trolls, woman, but there are ways to avoid being looked upon with disgust. I barely feel lust anymore." He turned back to their route and she lifted a brow. Maybe he wasn't as brutal as first thought. "Don't get me wrong though," he said, grinning at her mischievously. "I am a cannibal. We better find some food soon, you look tasty." He was rewarded with a kick between the legs that left him keeling in pain hours afterward.

* * *

Zul'jin  
(Some months later)

Bloodlust filled the troll's veins as he swung his axe over and over again. It bit into energy, metal, flesh, and bone. Over and over again the blade lifted and descended. A void walker charged him from behind, blowing a massive bolt of nether energy into his back. He swung at it, carving deep into the shadow energy that composed it, but he was thrown to the ground none-the less. The Avarial charged the void walkers around him, her holy light enchanted blade ripping through them like a knife through butter. In seconds, he was up beside her. Bloodlust caused his axe to aim at her head, but a sharp pain in his back caused him to turn, hacking down into a fell demon. He proceeded to hit it until it was a writhing mass of blood and broken bone on the ground, shuddering violently. With that he collapsed, blood running from a multitude of wounds that dotted his body. Next to him, a demon fell to the ground, its hot blood staining the orange sand of the land they were in.

Zul'jin then felt hands under his shoulders, pulling him to his feet. Immediately, Zul'jin grabbed a tomahawk and spun around, burying it into the Avarial's shoulder. She didn't even make a sound, soothingly rubbing his back and shoulder. He screamed violently, lifting his axe… but there he paused, still under her gentle touch. He quivered lightly a moment, and then dropped the axe to the ground, lowering his head.

"Elf-angel…?"

"Trolls and their stupid bloodlusts. That's the fifth time you've hit me with an axe this month."

"Fifth…?" He shook his head slowly, clearing it. "… Sorry. Try harder next time."

"How about you try less and don't go into a bloodlust in the first place." Zul'jin grinned, cackling harshly. Then he lifted an arm, gripping the tomahawk in her shoulder and wrenching it out. She growled sharply and threw him into a rock, causing him to laugh more.

"Ahh," he said, standing up fully and strapping his axe to his back once more. "I am sorry, Myev. You know dat. We close to the village yet?"

"Not yet. We have a few more days to go." He sighed in relief, sitting down laboriously and starting to tend to his wounds.

"At last… freedom is so close… What after that? Where should we go? Ogrimmar still?"

"It is the best choice I can think of. We need news of what's happened in the world since we left it." He nodded slowly, and she helped him tend a few wounds on his back. When she finished, he tended hers. "What if orcs and humans are no longer at peace?"

"You know, that would be just my luck, too." The troll laughed darkly, patting her on the shoulder. She winced and he apologized, examining the tomahawk wound in her shoulder. She was unprepared for feeling him spit on it. "WHAT THE HELL?" she said, gripping her sword as he 'giggled,' his cowl down.

"Whaaattt? You never heard of a troll's blood potion before? It helps with healing!" Her eyes flamed as he grinned, bandaging the wound properly. She grumbled, crossing her arms

"Do NOT do that. Ever." He grinned and pecked her on the cheek. To his surprise, she only glared at him as opposed to hacking one of his limbs off. "I hear that burning stops trolls from regenerating quickly. Do that again, and you won't be able to use the bathroom for a month." Provoking such a threat without actually getting hit delighted the troll, and he decided to continue.

"Oh? Well can I hug you?"

"No."

"Can I cuddle with you?"

"NO!"

"Can I give you a shoulder massage?" She looked just about ready to try and choke the life out of him when she blinked.

"… Okay…" He blinked, having expected a tackle, not an acceptance, and then shrugged. Being careful of the wound in her shoulder, he gently kneaded the muscles in her neck, upper back, and shoulders. She sighed, happily, but she did not remove her hand from her sword hilt.

"You almost look pretty when you're not angry." He got choked to unconsciousness for that one. As he'd been semi-serious, he was quite vexed by that, and would not talk to her for a duration of 2 days.

(Some days later)

Zul'jin looked sadly at the remains of the burnt village, kicking at a small piece of burnt rubble.

"It looks like they've been gone for some time, Myev said softly, coming up next to him and carrying a spell book.

"What would kill them?"

"I found no bodies, nor signs of carnage. I think they left- permanently. They burnt this village to the ground themselves."

"We aren't a lucky pair, are we?" he sighed out, looking at her. "What's that?"

"A spell book. There's a cross planar teleport spell in here, but no portal spell." He brightened up, looking at her face. Still, there had to be some sort of catch, and he knew it.

"What's the difference? Why's a teleport spell not as good as a portal spell?"

"It's a scroll, not a complete spell. Only one of us can use it." He paused, looking at her silently. Slowly, she opened the spell book, pulling out the teleport scroll and offering it to him. Zul'jin looked down at it and then back at the elf angel. Well, she might try to choke him to death, but she certainly was a guardian angel. He frowned beneath his cowl and said nothing for a long moment. "Well- go on. I'm sure I can find some other way out of here- and I can go twice as fast by flying when you're gone." The troll was silent a long moment more. Then he shook his head.

"No, that not be fair," he said, reaching out and closing her hand over the scroll. "I stay with you till we find a way for you to get out too. Two fighters are better than one. Besides, how long do you think I'll last, with not a clue as to what has been going on the last many years?" She was silent a long, long time. Then, slowly, she nodded her head, drawing the scroll back to her and pocketing it. "Alright. So what do we do now?"

"Strike out for the demons in a search for any treasure- such as a spell book or a teleport scroll. And continue rifling through this mess."

"We need shelter. From monsters and dust storms alike." She nodded in agreement.

"We can build them from these ruins. Come on, help me get started."

And it was thus, that Elf and Troll made a semblance of peace.

(Some time later)

"Well," the troll said, dropping a large bag of gold at Myev's feet. "If we ever DO get out of here, we'll certainly be the richest people to walk that world." Myev shook her head, sighing.

"Go toss that down a hole somewhere. Gold is like rotten meat- it only attracts unwanted visitors." Zul'jin laughed harshly, picking up the bag.

"So you've told me," he muttered, smiling, and leaving. When he returned moments later, he plopped down next to Myev, nibbling on some boiled meat and mushroom. "Maybe we should start raising rats." The Elf Angel blinked, looking at him.

"Rats? Why?"

"I don't see them as often, I think this part of the world is running out."

"The world is running out of rats? Never thought I'd see the day. Ah well, at least as long as you live, they'll be one left in the world." He gave her a friendly shove and she grinned back, looking out over the fire at the orange landscape. "So… how long do you think we've been here now?"

"Oh," he said, smiling and leaning back against a rock. "I'd say we're going on two years."

"Two years with no one but a troll for company. I do believe I should be mad by now."

"Who says you're not?" He grinned, scooting next to her and tousling her hair. She growled, and he giggled, tugging his cowl down and peck-kissing her on the cheek. She stiffened and promptly grabbed him between the legs, squeezing hard enough to bring tears to his orange eyes. "AHHHHH…" he whimpered, freezing up. She glared, releasing quickly, and causing him to cower. Alright, he was in the err this time. He couldn't blame it on her temper- she'd already given him a warning. She sat back in composure, chewing on her food and ignoring him as he winced, sitting up and swearing to himself.

Note to self: Never underestimate angry women. They're not feisty- they're dangerous. Frying pans double damage. Shot guns deal instant critical-hits.

"Auuughh… Woman, that was unnecessary force…"

"Leave me alone, dung-heap."

"Come now, I was being half serious and you still hit me." She eyed him dangerously and he glared back. He might not be an angel, but he was prepared to fight back if she tried to choke him again. After all- she wasn't THAT much stronger than a mortal.

"Half serious?" He blinked, eyeing her silently for a moment.

"Maybe?" Apparently that was the right thing to say, for instead of decapitating him or choking him half to death, she leaned over and pecked him gently on the cheek, and then looked at him silently. The troll did nothing for a moment and then kissed her cheek back tenderly, wincing lightly in pain. She kissed his gently, lightly, briefly. Both peppered each other with soft kisses. Their mouths met one another and they embraced slowly, each finding comfort with their sole companion of two year's time. Equals… friends… and loved ones…

* * *

Nerubian Lord  
(After the Frozen Throne)

Anub'Arak smiled, watching Ketala practice. In her hands were ancient artifacts, weapons crafted for the soul purpose of being wielded by a creature like her- something half mortal, half elemental. They were called elemental scimitars, and at her call they shifted and blended elemental properties. Against undead, light and fire were her weapons. Against humans- darkness and fire. Against infernals, water could be used… and against creatures of the ocean- lightning.

She wove them like they were born into her hands. Blades whipped around in beautiful, expert precision. In moments, the ghoul she was facing was a charred pile of bone and flesh on the ground.

Oh, she would be a jewel in the Litch King's crown. She would be a fighter for all peoples to quail beneath. If only her mind could be curbed, they could teach her to use her psychic powers and her auras. But, alas, no matter how often she was punished, and no matter how often she was hurt, Ketala was unendingly innocent. She never struck back, never filled with hatred, and never argued. Anub'Arak watched the girl take on her next opponent with flying colors- a small dragon spawn.

But that would change soon. Ketala was entering her fifth year of life- 3 years in the care of Kel'Thuzad.

She had already entered puberty. Soon it would be time for her to join the ranks of the Scourge… And that mindset.

* * *

Ketala  
(Some time later)

"What's it like to be undead?" Ket asked, drawing in the sand. Kel'Thuzad looked over at her, tilting his head to the side.

"Filled with our cause… with immeasurable power…"

"Oh," she said simply, going back to drawing." The litch perked up.

" 'Oh?' That's it?"

"Yep."

"You have no care for power?"

"Uh-uh" She said, shaking her head. The litch blinked.

"Why?"

"Well… You'll always be around, right Guardian?" Kel'Thuzad paused, surprised by the question, and unsure of what to answer.

"Yes…" he said slowly, uncertainly.

"And I'll always have Thrash, right?"

"Correct…"

"Well… I don't need any more. I've got all I need… And enough power to take care of myself…"

"You have no yearning for more?"

"No, not really. Though it would be kinda interesting to shoot ice bolts or do some magic other than wielding my scimitars… Just for the fun of it." The litch sat back, perplexed by his young ward.

"What if Thrash was killed, I unavailable, and the killer could only be destroyed by more power than you possess?"

"I'd ask someone for help."

"What if no one would give it?"

"Well, I guess I'd have to steal the power…" But she hastily assured him, "I'd give it back though. And I wouldn't take it if the person really needed it." Kel'Thuzad just stared. How had he, of all the creatures on this world, raised something so… naïve… so innocent? A simple death paladin would not be enough. She would need to become fully undead, fully taken in by the scourge. A pity. He had desired to save more of her quick mind. Apparently only her fighting skill would be allowed to survive. The litch 'stood' after a moment, regarding Ketala silently.

"Stand up, Ket," he ordered, and she obeyed, looking at him expectantly. He looked her up and down, nodding to himself. "We will wait another month," he decided at last, and waved her off. "Go play with your cat." Again she obeyed, but not before giving him a quick hug. He snorted, annoyed, and returned to his seat. He could hardly wait for a month to past. Ketala was beginning to become a severe irritant.

* * *

Kel'Thuzad  
(One month later.)

The litch stirred lightly in the doorway of his planning room, watching Ketala play a game of tag with Thrash. He watched her movements, noticing she had not grown for a week now. That would not be saying much in regards to a human, but with how fast Ketala had grown, it was a sure sign of halting in development. The Litch King pulled him onward, eager, and Kel'Thuzad stepped out of the building. Ketala blinked, coming to a halt, turning to look at her Guardian.

"Send Thrash off, Ketala," he said slowly. She obeyed, speaking soothingly to Thrash until the cat obeyed, bounding off. Kel'Thuzad waited till it had gone, watching her silently. When it was out of sight, he continued. "Come here, Ket." Again, she obeyed, coming up before him and looking at him curiously. "It is time for you to join with the Scourge. Lay down- I do not want to needlessly injure your body any more then necessary. Ketala nodded, wordlessly obeying, and sat down, laying prone on the ground as he knelt beside her. He had an acolyte bring him a sacrificial knife, and he summoned his power, preparing to resurrect her as an undead. Then he lifted a blade in a skeletal hand, silent.

"Wait," she suddenly said, sitting up and grabbing his arm. His skeletal brows narrowed at this interruption, but his face went expressionless again at what she said next. "You will be with me, guardian? Once am I undead? Will the Litch King have me stay here and aid you in defending the Plaguelands- to stay with you?"

Once more, lack of expression was as close as the poor litch could come to feeling sadness. Or love.

"That is for the Litch King to decide. But I believe he will not want you to risk a journey to Northrend until even my job here is complete- you are too valuable." A look of relief and relaxation crossed her face as she nodded, letting go and leaning back against the ground.

"I hope so…" she said softly, content. It was then Kel'Thuzad said something simple. At first, it could be regarded as nothing… But it was the first, weak sign of rebellion growing deep within the litch.

"Close your eyes." So she need not watch him murder her. So she didn't have to see. The blade plunged down and her life ended quickly, without the smallest cry. It moved into her chest with a thick, satisfying, ripping noise, blood spurting over the litch's fingers. Her heartbeat never raised in the slightest. The litch was silent and still a moment, before pulling the blade from her heart. Slowly, he touched the wound, feeling the hot blood lap over his bony fingers. "Ketala, you will be one of the greatest of the Litch King's servants," he murmured. "Your obedience is utter. Your personality will be stripped by the Litch King. As a Death Paladin you will serve him." He pressed down over the wound, almost as if trying to stop the bleeding. But no heartbeat stirred under his fingertips, and the stream of blood slowed with no heart to move it. And then, he began the ritual to return to his little Ketala… a new, half life. A curse.

* * *

Illidan  
(After the Frozen Throne)

Illidan 'watched' impassively as the troll girl sat in a tree, plucking small fruits from the branches. Almost time… His ears twitched as a Satyr jumped from the branches above her. With simple, practiced grace, she twirled around, pulling out a tomahawk and whipping it into the Satyr's chest, the momentum throwing it backwards into the trunk of the tree. It screamed in agony, clawing at is bleeding chest as she stood, regarding it a moment. Then, as it started choking on blood, she came up to it, yanking out the axe and putting her hands over its chest. Life sunk into the bloody brown satyr, sealing the wound and reknitting the tissues that had been broken, and shoving ribs back into place. It shuddered unhappily, groaning, its fingers twitching weakly, its eyes rolled back in its head.

"There, there, you ugly, stupid, evil thing," she said with a sigh. "Zul'vii won't let you die. She's too soft, to unfit for battle to do that, and as far as she's seen, you've done nothing worse then being a Satyr." She gripped his neck, pulling his head up so that she could look at his face. He shuddered, half unconscious.

"Hmm… you are not from a tribe around here. You look like you belong farther south, you're too brown in color. Someone sent you. By god, if it be a demon I will kill you here. There is a line between stupid and evil!" He quivered, slipping into unconsciousness, and she snorted, eying him for a moment. Then she sighed, giving in to her softer side, and picked the Satyr up gently. She dropped down from the tree, her long legs handling the impact, and she half carried, half dragged the creature back to camp. Illidan lifted a brow, watching her go, somewhat bewildered. Kael looked up at him expectantly. His hearing was no where near as good as the Demon-hunter's, and he needed a status report on the result of this experiment.

"She is smart. She recognized the Satyr as not from this land," Illidan allowed after some time.

"How did she fight?"

"As an axe-thrower. She is definitely part forest troll."

"Did she kill it?"

"… No. She healed it. She's dragging it back to the camp." Kael smirked.

"Merciful."

"Foolish."

"If she could turn all those other creatures onto her side with her mercy… perhaps she can even turn a servant of yours, Lord Illidan." Illidan turned his head, looking at Kaelthalas.

"Perhaps she can turn you as well, Blood Elf Prince."

"If I started picking up shamanism and became a happier person, I assure you I would not abandon your service, lord. I swore allegiance. It will take more then my life becoming merrier to break that vow. "

"Nothing with that kind of power can exist like this! It's too surreal, to perfect! She is not what she seems! Such a creature- such a place is only real in dreams."

"What if she is innocent? She did save the satyr." Illidan scowled, turning and trudging off. Kael stared after him as Vashj slithered up beside the Blood Elf. "… He won't listen."

"Illidan has been a Betrayer… and has been betrayed himself… far, far too long to view this half Troll… as anything more than another betrayal. He is strong, and he steels himself against pain and death. As I have." Kael nodded slowly, thinking.

"Given time, will you change your mind?"

"Perhaps… but it would be a great wealth of time. You must remember, Kaelthalas. We have not had the benefit of living our whole lives in luxury." Kael grimaced, feeling like he was being treated like a child. Then again, Vashj and Illidan were well over ten thousand.

"My people have suffered, as have yours."

"Indeed," murmured Vashj, slithering off. "Let Lord Illidan brood. He will calm down eventually."

"His wounds need to be tended to-"

"Do you want to be the one to bother him?" Kael conceded to this, shaking his head.

"You are right. Let's return to the village." She nodded her medusa-like head in assent, slithering through the white and gray forest, with Kael Sunstrider close behind.


	5. Grip on RealityEmotionSanity

**FEAR KEEVER AND HIS NEW USE OF FIRST PERSON, THIRD PERSON, AND MISSING PERSON PRONOUNS! (Missing person, he forgets to use a pronoun.)**

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* * *

_Grip on Emotion  
Grip on Sanity  
Grip on Reality_  
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* * *

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Keever  
(During World of Warcraft)

Keever lay silently on his cot. He did not know if it was night or day, dawn or dusk. He only knew he was unexplainably tired. As he was undead, this was a new phenomenon to him. He was on his stomach, his eyes closed. With the ancient lids covering the burning yellow embers that were his new eyes, he looked exactly like a mistreated corpse. Nothing hinted at the life in him- no breath, no heartbeat, no glimmer of life, save for one hand was curled around a small creature at his side, the dagger-like fingertips gently brushing over its soft fur. The cat, the small creature at his side, was purring softly, its eyes half lidded as it regarded the room around it silently. He felt The cat tense at his side, and his lids parted a millimeter, allowing him to peer at whatever had bothered it.

Another undead had entered the room. That woman… that foul, foul woman… She came up to the bed with skilled silence, smiling down at his prone form, ignoring The cat altogether. Slowly she drew from her side a twisted dagger, gleaming black with some fluid. And silently, she plunged it down. Keever grabbed her hand, forcing the dagger away from his skin. She shrieked furiously, fighting against him, shoving the dagger blade towards his side, trying to give it the light toss required to pierce his flesh, but unwilling to let go of the weapon at the same time. Immediately The cat was on her shoulders, raking open her dead skin. She gave a furious growl as The cat blinded her, tearing away her enchanted eyes, and marring the flesh so there was nothing she could see out of them. It then jumped nimbly away, landing on the floor and scurrying under the cot. Keever grunted, twisting the woman's wrist and then letting go, quickly shoving the blade out of her blind grip. She screamed as the dagger clattered to the floor, and fought even harder against him, her fingers tearing into him as his tore into her.

Suddenly, the female apothecary gave a tiny yelp, stiffening and looking down at her leg. The cat was sitting there, looking up at them with silent, half lidded eyes, the edge of the dagger shoved into the woman's foot. Instantly it swam through her long dead veins, causing her to twitch and break away from Keever, shaking as she stumbled to her knees. She gave a hoarse, agonized scream, grabbing the dagger and hurling it at The cat, before keeling over, dead. The cat jumped, the blade pinning its tail to the floor. Immediately, The cat was rewarded with an evil slice, as Keever gripped a nearby dagger of his own (Thankfully unpoisoned), now that his hands were empty, and cut off the feline's tail near the base. It yowled, evidently vexed by this, and he dropped the dagger quickly, picking The cat up and holding it tightly, almost crushingly.

"Is sorry," he murmured unhappily. "Did to try and stop the spread of poison." It made a light growl, but made no motion to hack open his face. Thus, Keever held it a good minute, and his upper lip curled, his tongue touching the roof of his mouth, in his disgusting version of a smile. Slowly, he set The cat down, convinced it was not about to die on him. It growled unhappily at him, eyeing the slightly bleeding stub of its tail.

Keever was silent a moment and then grinned. He got up and walked around; searching through endless boxes and jars before he returned with a long gray feather. He tied the feather to the stub of The cat's tail, cackling to himself as it swished the new 'tail' around a bit and then looked at him like he was crazy. "Hey, at least is trying. You come up with an idea, if you're so smart." The cat snorted, daintily removing the feathered tail. Then it promptly pulled the dagger out of its decapitated tail with its teeth and tossed it to the side. It waited a moment; he speculated it was waiting for the poison to dissipate. Then, when the time seemed right, it lowered the stub of its tail to the stub of the decapitated limb. Keever jumped, watching the two join and reunite, the tail regaining life and swishing back and forward. "That's… a pretty good idea," he said softly, regarding the animal. It hissed at him and then hopped up onto his shoulder with an effortless spring- quite a jump for a cat. He looked at it fondly and scratched its chin. "What are you?" he asked it. "Why do you stay? What do you want?" It merely purred and he sighed, eyeing it. "Who are you?"

It looked directly at him, and he swore it smiled. _Mahi._ It said. _MahiMahi. _

"Mahi?" he asked, tasting the exotic name. The cat nodded, and went back to purring. Keever smiled, stroking its back. "MahiMahi."

* * *

MahiMahi  
(Some time later)

Keever had come to the conclusion that making poisons was boring. So far, with careful experimentation, he had managed to turn Mahi bright blue for a few moments (Mahi shook it off some how, she apparently liked being her normal orange, black, and white mix.), a fish into a shark, and had somehow turned a rock into a bar of silver. You could say he had talent for finding easy ways to make money. Mahi viewed it all with a sort of curious detachment.

Then there came a day when he could not find Mahi. It had disappeared some time during the creation of a potion (Which used a type of poison to turn lichen various colors and thus turn a small portion of his cave into a disco chamber. Not that he could disco.). Keever blinked as soon as he noticed Mahi was missing, and he looked around for the small creature. Vexingly, it was no where to be found. And he searched _everywhere_. He looked in the prison room, in every small sewage or garbage hole, in every box, under his cot, _everywhere_. To no avail. At last the undead sat down, looking around helplessly for his tiny companion, quivering lightly.

"Mahi?" he questioned- but nothing came. About then, the poor undead realized he felt rotten (No pun intended). Pain, which so long had been only a mental thing for him, fired up all the way through his being. He felt sick, his vision hazy, and began to get dizzy. If he still had a gag reflex, he'd have vomited by now. "Mahi!" he wailed unhappily, breathing in a sharp gasp of air. It hurt, cold and barren, filling his shriveled, dried lungs. It was a sob of sorts, from a creature that could not cry. And then, the suffocating feeling was gone. He felt the animal brush up against him and he breathed out in relief, stroking its back. It let him, for a moment, and then eluded him, darting to the door.

Unhesitatingly, Keever followed. From the door, Mahi led him out of the Apothecarium out into the canals. A guard curled his nose at him in disgust but paid him no more attention. It led him to the massive staircase leading up to the main sewage pipe and he paused, staring at it as it bounded up the stairs and perched there, looking down at him. He paused, his eyes widening somewhat.

"Are… you leaving…?" he asked slowly. The cat nodded sage-like, sitting down and regarding him. He swallowed as best as he could, his clawed hands clenching. "Please… do not leave…" it meowed, docking its head to the side. He hesitated a moment, and then tried again. "Please, creature… You have changed…" he paused, and then with great effort, mentioned himself in the first person, "me… It would be cruel to leave me like this…" Mahi purred, grinning smugly. It stood up and then slowly started changing. Its neck and legs lengthened considerably as its whole body grew to a massive size. The face became elongated, the tail turning to a bunch of hair, and a mane sprouting. Its claws hardened into hooves, and it stood a massive roan horse, looking down at him silently.

Keever blinked, regarding Mahi silently. Then, slowly, he stood up straight, turning his head to eye it with his good eye. He was silent a long, long moment, watching the horse kneel down on all fours, offering its back to him. "…You want… Keever… to come with you…?" The horse snorted, tossing its head lightly, and then gestured to its back with its head. He hesitated, uncertain… and then, slowly, crept up the stairs. Keever looked back at the Undercity, wondering if there was anything to bind him there. Nothing came to mind. He placed one skeletal on its shoulder and the other on its back. Slowly, he closed his eyes and then sighed softly. The undead climbed onto its bare back and holding onto its side with his legs, wrapping his arms around its neck as it stood up. It snorted, as if laughing at him, and turned its head, butting him gently in the side.

"I come…" he said softly, feeling the warmth of the living creature against him. Then, Mahi bounded off through the sewers with him clinging tightly to it.

* * *

Zul'jin and Myev  
(Several years after Reign of Chaos)

Zul'jin blinked, looking down at the elf-angel. "Myev?" he asked, setting his axe down against the wall of their home and coming up to her worriedly. She was crouched on the ground, tears on her cheeks, and looked visibly in pain, her tendril wings sprawling around her and holding her up. She hissed out, crying softly. "Myev?" he asked alarmed, coming up to her.

"NO!" she shrieked. "Don't touch me!" He jerked back, looking at her.

"Myev? What's wrong?" She whimpered, groaning softly.

"Ah… I… I think I'm going into labor." It took Zul'jin a minute of comprehension to realize the meaning of the sentence- as he did not know _everything_ about Elfin. When he understood, his jaw dropped beneath his cowl and he stared at her.

"Myev… why… why didn't you tell me…?"

"BECAUSE I THOUGHT I WAS JUST PUTTING ON WEIGHT FROM ALL THE MEAT I WAS EATING! NOW HELP MEEE!" Ignoring the fact that she'd just screamed for him to get away, he came up to her, pulling her against him. She cried out, tearing at his hair, and he let her, helping her undress and holding her as she cried out in pure agony, her fingers kneading thick welts into his shoulders. He bore the pain, holding her slender body as she squatted, shoving the object inside of her out into the world.

Zul'jin stared down at the small child as Myev rested, wrapped in blankets, at his side. It was full-sized and around ten pounds, its eyes humanoid with pale orange irises. It had five fingers with small soft talons at the end, pointed ears, and no teeth yet. Its skin was a pale emerald green with small splotches of whitish human skin and darker green troll coloring dotting it in a reptilian pattern. It was female, and she slept now in his arms as he smiled slowly beneath his cowl, proud of it. He had only slept with Myev once, in a rare moment, late in their relationship, when both had been feeling extremely affectionate. They probably would never share a bed again. But this was enough. This child signified their union, and Zul'jin decided if he loved any creature, it would have to be the annoying, feminist, Avarial. He gently hugged the child and sighed, content, resting against the side of the shelter.

* * *

Zul'vii  
(After the Frozen Throne)

"You don't like me, do you Stormrage?" The Demonhunter jumped, looking over in surprise at the healer. Immediately, he was gripping his war blades, crouching into a defensive stance. These were his old blades. Vashj and Kael had kept him. Where his newer, greater blades were, he did not know, but he surmised they were frozen far beneath the ice, all the way back at the Frozen Throne. The troll laughed lightly, crossing her arms as Illidan stared at her. It had been a long… long time… since anyone had surprised him like that. But he did not ask how she could be so silent, watching her cautiously and not coming out of his stance. "Come now, Demonhunter. I cannot be _that_ bad. I am only a healer after all?"

"Is that all you are?" he asked darkly, watching her with his spectral vision. She blinked, tilting her head to the side.

"I am a warrior- an axe fighter. I am probably better then any orc or troll currently living. But I am a healer at heart."

"And what else?" he prompted.

"I am half troll, daughter of Zul'jin, half Avarial, daughter of Myev. I am the leader of my clan, which has come to me over the years. We travel. We split up and go out to other nations. We are healers and warriors- paladins if you will, but of a different kind of light. That of peace."

"Why should I believe you want nothing more?"

"Because you know I am not like you, Illidan. You can tell, I think, with your spectral sight."

"Your aura taints everything you near. The only thing I have ever seen do the same, I have seen in most of my enemies. The only other creature that taints like you is a demon."

"Ah… but they taint with darkness, correct?" Illidan said nothing. "Thus… if I taint with the opposite, with light…" she trailed off. "Come now, Demonhunter… why do you hate me so? Do you hate all care?" He curled his upper lip in disdain.

"You know nothing of me. You may know my past, but you know nothing of _me._" She watched him a long moment and then hopped to the ground, coming up to him and starting to circle him.

"You are lost. You see enemies on all sides, shadows lurking in the darkness of every eye and heart, all around you are enemies. Good and evil alike strike at you. You have been betrayed in the past. Simple good intentions, coupled with addiction to magic caused you to remake the well of eternity. You meant it as a gift- as much to everyone else as to yourself. You never desired to 'hog' power, you only wanted to use it, to feel it flowing through you, pure ecstasy of magic and strength. And they looked on you with anger and hatred. As punishment they cast you below the ground with a madwoman to watch over you. They left you, abandoned you and forgot you there. While Tyrande walked beneath the beautiful moon… and Furion slept peacefully in the Emerald dream, no worries at all but for the tending of the land…" she paused dramatically and looked at him. "You were forgotten. Left alone… with those vengeance-mad wardens.

"When you heard Tyrande's voice, after all those years of nothingness, it was like the sound of an angel. Immediately you went toward it- the first comforting thing you had encountered in time that seemed eternal. You would have cried if your eyes were unmarred- just at the sound of her voice. She set you free, and again you made a sacrifice. True you liked magic, true you wanted the skull of Gul'dan, and true, you did not trust Arthas, but you gave up being a pure Night Elf to do as Tyrande bade you; you rid this world of Tichondrious and made a huge gap in demonic defenses, freeing a major portion of the Night Elves beloved homelands. And Furion again was blinded. Not seeing sacrifice behind your initial greed, he cast you out again. And again Tyrande looked on, caught between both, unable to agree with either side.

"Your enemies are in all things. In undead, in demons, in the light, in water, sky, earth and flame. You are completely entirely alone, even when you are surrounded by Naga and Blood Elves- an empty sensation, just like the one caused by Frostmourne. Only this is not a yearning for life to fill the gaps, but a yearning for magic. The need for magic, for more power; to use and wield its all-powerful strength. And yet even when you gain more, you are empty. Your addiction drives you further and further, and more and more you are alone. You made peace with Furion- not only to eliminate enemies on one front, not only to please and save Tyrande, but because you are quite aware you have no one. You have nothing. Tyrande, your only link to this world, is in love with the brother who failed to understand you for so long, and you have left her to gain more power, to fight Arthas. So many people look for you to lead, but domination is not your goal. You become more like Maive, only you are hunted. You seek vengeance against Arthas with a passion, leading your magic-addicted people from conflict to conflict with no heed to the fact that they are mortal- magic alone cannot feed them. And you know all this and yet can do nothing about it, for the hollowness inside you craves more. It craves power. And everywhere you go, that insane, evil Warden follows.

"And now a healer saves you from death. Yet still your blind eyes see only hatred- only the elements you find within yourself- as if you were incapable of seeing anything else. You see power and you instantly recognize it with other beings of power- you instantly recognize it with your own partial insanity." Illidan was just staring. He was still in a defensive stance, but he was zoned out, staring at her blankly, his lips parted lightly. "… I am not Maive, Illidan… I am not Arthas. And I may not be Tyrande, but I still want to help." She paused in her circling, watching him silently. The wind tossed his violet hair over his pale purple shoulders, but he did not stir, as silent as a statue, watching her. Slowly, she reached out, touching the top of his warblade and slowly, gently pushing it down. He snarled, taking a slice at her, and she jumped backwards, watching him. He growled to himself, slowly lowering his blades, and she tentatively approached again. He did not hack at her this time, but his grip on his warblades tightened.

"… I won't hurt you, Illidan…" He said nothing, tensing lightly. She was silent, looking up at the tall night elf demon. Then she smirked. "If you be getting hungry, there's food back at the camp. I came to tell you that." She nodded her head lightly in parting, and then turned, hopping back over the massive log she had perched on earlier, and heading back for the camp. Illidan watched her go, bewildered and silent.

How? How could she know so much? How could she read him like that? He felt utterly and horridly manipulated, and yet strangely pleased at the same time. The Demonhunter did not want to go near her- near any of them… but the burning void was growing in his shoulder. He was in pain, and he was feeling drowsy. If he did not get healing and nourishment, he might very well die out there in the wilderness. He had to go.

_I wont hurt you, Illidan._ She'd said. _I wont hurt you. I am not Maive. I am not Arthas._

_

* * *

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Jaina  
(End of The Frozen Throne)

She did not dream that night. When she woke up, she carefully organized all the papers she'd worked on. After that, it required little effort to teleport into Ogrimmar's main hall. She could hear the two guards shifting past a door, in the hallway leading to her room. She smiled and looked around, curiously examining the various furs and skulls decorating the room. There were several other doors, but to where they led, she had no idea- hold a moment. She sniffed the air, smelling the musky sent of an animal, and grinned. She crept towards one door, and in a soft voice, whispered, "Puppy?"

Immediately, Jaina was assaulted by Thrall's mount, who had so graciously let her be the day before. It pounced on her, nailing her to the ground with one paw, and it was all she could do to keep from making noise, laughing silently as the huge wolf licked her face. Slowly she managed to get it to stop tongue bathing her, and it took its paw off her chest, letting her put her arms around its neck and hug it. After that, Jaina stood, scratching its chin gently.

"There," she said in a whisper. "Where's your master, anyway?" She was surprised when the wolf butted her and then turned, dashing back into the room. Blinking, the tiny human followed, and grinned as she saw Thrall sprawled lazily on a hide covered bed, still in armor. He was asleep. She covered her mouth to avoid laughing at how childish and exhausted he looked, wondering if he had been subjected to as much political turmoil as she had. Then she proceeded to teleport back to her room, grab the extra food Thrall had brought her, and teleport back to Thrall's room. She offered a gargantuan steak to the wolf, which immediately sat down, wagging its tail, its tongue lolling from its mouth.

"Oh, what kind of war beast are you?" she accused, giving it the steak. "You are like a big puppy." It didn't complain, mauling the steak in its mouth as it grinned at her. She laughed softly, scratching it behind the ears. It yipped lightly as it engulfed the meat, licking her. Then, suddenly, it lay down. Jaina blinked, and then smirked, slowly placing a hand on its shoulder, and slowly lifting a leg. It just grinned at her innocently. Hoping she wasn't about to get throne off, Jaina slowly climbed onto the wolf's back. It gave a light bark, jumping up to all its feet and Jaina laughed, clinging tightly to the thick fur around its neck. "Fear me! Warchief of the Horde!"

"I dunno, you're a bit scrawny if you ask me." Jaina yelped, nearly falling off the wolf and grinning sheepishly at Thrall, who was standing up, grinning at her, his arms crossed across his chest. "Come now, Human. These are my private quarters and that's my wolf." She blushed crimson and slid off. He chuckled, shaking his head and coming up to her.

"I was just curious," she said meekly and he laughed, patting her on the back lightly.

"No harm done," he said, baring his teeth in a smile. "I was only jesting with you. I see my companion remembers you." He grinned, reaching over and scratching the wolf's head.

"Thank you… for dealing with me yesterday… I must have seemed half hysterical." He laughed, nodding.

"It was no problem, Miss Proudmoore. Your work for peace benefits us both- thus it is only fitting that I contribute. Besides, you do not have the luxury of being the highest leader of your people." Jaina lowered her head more, sighing, her straw-like blond hair drooping in front of her face. "Besides I… I owe you… for all that has happened." She smirked, looking up at him with her head tilted to the side.

"How could you be sure, when I appeared, that I wasn't here to cause you harm?"

"For the same reason I would not believe that it was you attacking our shores, and agreed to bring the smallest amount necessary… of death to your people… when we had to invade. For the same reason you came to talk to me after Mt. Hygal." Jaina grinned, showing teeth.

"Oh, you know me so well, do you now? Well I know you just as well. I was the one who had to teleport to your camp, knowing you'd stand and fight instead of run from Archemond's advance. Always a hero." Thrall grinned fiendishly, giving her a little shove. She staggered lightly and shoved him back, irritated by not even being able to budge him in the slightest. He laughed, sweeping her up in one arm and giving her a crushing hug that she fought in vain to escape, laughing back.

"Cann'ttt… breattthee…" she hissed out, kicking him in the leg. He grinned evilly, loosening his grip a bit.

"You're tiny, aren't you?" he said, smirking at her. "You're like a rag doll."

"Ooh, I'm flattered." He chuckled, setting her down a little more gently, mindful of not being too rough with the poor, unaccustomed human.

"There. Now, are you feeling better this morning?" She nodded, brushing off her robes. "Are you up to teleporting from here back to your island, so that you can get more of these wonderful treaties for us to examine and pull apart?" Jaina grinned nodding.

"But," she interrupted, "while I'm gone, you'll have to do something for me." He blinked, lifting a brow.

"And what is that, Miss Proudmoore?"

"Take a bath, you smell _terrible_." She grinned, jumping backwards and teleporting quickly. Thrall blinked, and grinned to himself. He probably hadn't been insulted like _that_ for a long, long time.

* * *

Kel'Thuzad  
(Several Years after The Frozen Throne)

Kel'Thuzad smiled, watching the Litch King's newest weapon. Ketala was moving smoothly, with perfect precision, her scimitars whirling through the air like batons. "Enough," he said after some time. Ketala obeyed instantly, turning to Kel'Thuzad. "Sheathe your blades." She obeyed, sheathing both scimitars, awaiting his next command. Kel'Thuzad blinked… not quite sure of what to do with her now. She was too untrained and too valuable to patrol as a normal guard… and now she had little initiative of her own to preoccupy herself.

He could not bother with her right now- he needed to speak with Anub'Arak… without distractions… Kel'Thuzad paused, and then decided to test what remained of Ketala's mind. "Go to your fire and play with your cat." Ketala was silent a long moment. Then, slowly, she moved off toward her fire. She paused, looking back at him to see if she was doing as he wanted. He blinked, surprised, and gave a small nod. She didn't move a moment, and then turned back, walking back to her fire, now long burnt out.

Kel'Thuzad watched her go for a moment, and then turned around, floating off. He returned some hours later, deciding not to use telepathy, curious as to how she had adapted to her commands. He paused at the fire, watching her. She was sitting before the burnt out embers, knelt down and gazing at it silently. There was fresh wood heaped over the fire, and she was raking through the ash. Slowly, she located a few embers, and leaned over. Her body expanded and contracted as she blew out stale air onto the ember, putting some straw to it. Kel'Thuzad watched her, surprised, as she slowly built a fire, huddling close to it. After a moment, she stood, looking behind her. Thrash was huddled there, growling at her, but she smiled, reaching out a hand.

"Thrasshhhh…" She hissed out. "Ssshhhhhh… It'ssss meee…." The cat growled, its ears perking up. Then, slowly, it crept toward her, lifting its head and sniffing her pale, life-less fingers. It meowed, confused, and crept closer, sniffing her cheek. She laughed softly, her voice not yet ruined by decay, reaching up and stroking it behind the ears. It purred, rubbing against her and she smiled, wrapping her arms around its neck and hugging it, burying her face against it. "Oh Thrassshh…. I'm sssso coldd…."

Kel'Thuzad just stared, his head docked to the side. Then, he sent her a small mental command, a whim really. _Stand._ Instantaneously, she obeyed, releasing the cat. The Litch King would determine what to do with this. So strange. A servant with emotion and innocence, but with complete loyalty to the undead, and complete obedience? _Stay there._ He commanded, and turned, returning to his planning room and sitting down. He sat in his single chair, closing his eyes and joining directly with the consciousnesses of Anub'Arak and Arthas. He did not converse with them. But Arthas allowed both of their personalities out more so that they could fuel him with even more information, to improve his near-omniscient abilities. And the Litch King brooded, mauling over what to do with his newest weapon.

_Kel'Thuzad. _

_Master… _

_Test its abilities, first as it is now… and then with all its emotion blocked. _

_Yes Master… _Kel'Thuzad's personality receded to normal levels again and he stood, eyes blazing. He moved, leaving the room and blinking. The Litch King had thought for a long time to come up with a thorough solution. For hours at least…

Ketala was still standing there, in the exact place he left her. He'd told her to 'stay there,' and she had.

_Ketala,_ he said darkly. She turned her head quickly to face him. _Do you remember your aura? The ability you had to call things to your side. As you put it, to make them 'like' you. _

_Yes, _her mind radiated.

_Use it. Call something to you._ She was silent a moment.

_Without touching it?_

_From the spot you are now._ She was silent a long moment, immobile. And then there was a huge thud, as a massive frostwyrm hit the ground behind her, roaring out blue flame. Kel'Thuzad's eyes flamed but he paused, watching it. Slowly, the behemoth lowered its head, its boney muzzle resting against her back Kel'Thuzad watched it, silent, and nodded to himself. _Call something not undead._ Again, there was a pause. This time an eagle soared to the ground, sweeping up to her and landing on her shoulder, preening her hair. _Hold them there, but suppress all your emotions._

She obeyed perfectly- he could sense her mind doing as he asked. But instantaneously the Frostwyrm screamed, lifting its head, blasting gouts of cold into the air. The eagle shrieked, bating and shooting off as the dragon snapped at it. _Return your emotions._ Immediately, both creatures returned to pacifism, relaxing against her. The Litch King's decision was clear- her obedience was perfect. He would not attempt to drain her of emotion.

_Dismiss them,_ Kel'Thuzad ordered, and she obeyed, both creatures flying off. He watched Ketala silently, observing her as she held perfectly still. "Ketala?" he inquired. She looked directly at him. "Do you have desire left? Are there things you yearn for?" She hesitated, examining what was left of her will power. Then, slowly, she nodded. "What do you desire, Elemental?"

"To stay with you, Guardian." He nodded to himself, slowly, and then came up to her.

"Move freely." She did not lax her posture, but she turned fully toward him, not holding her feet in place where he had commanded her to 'stay there'. "Why do you want that, Ketala? Why do you want _only_ that?" She regarded him a long, long moment, slowly letting what was left of her mind roll out an answer.

"I have no other parent," she said simply. At a loss, the litch stared at her. The empty feeling welled within his hollow body.

"Stay by your fire as you always have. When you are found ready, your Master will determine what to do with you." She nodded her head lightly, looking at the ground. "Practice with your mental abilities. You will train every day with your blades as you always have. I have no time to oversee it. If you have questions, ask them mentally." Again she nodded.

Arthas, Sylvanis… all minions under his control knew the Litch King's will naturally. They took no tutoring. She needed practice with her abilities- that was all. Why was it he bothered explaining to her?

Because he was well aware, just as the Litch King was, that this creature was not fully undead. She would require careful scrutiny… But if she succeeded… her meager free will, her meager life… would make her unstoppable… Her mind posed a question and it merged into the main conscious of the Scourge, into the will of the Litch King.

"Thrash is not mature. In some years, when he is full grown, he will join you in undeath." Ketala nodded once more, and then stepped forward. Her arms clasped around his skeletal waist and she hugged him, leaning her cheek against his breast bone. In his mind, what was left of Arthas laughed, amused. Kel'Thuzad said nothing, unsure of what his master wanted, for once. The litch bared his teeth after a moment and laughed, deeply, as entertained as Arthas. "Your persistence reminds me of someone." Arthas grunted, amused even further. Ketala drew back, releasing him, and turned back to her fire, sitting beside it.

Everything was again as it should be. Kel'Thuzad was sarcastic and very much a conscious being. The world was again stagnant, with no yearning emptiness. Only bitter amusement between what was left of the undead paladin… and what was left of the undead litch. There was no uncertainty- only the binding will of the Litch King.

Ketala lifted her head, and looked at Kel'Thuzad. His gaze was unseeing as his world knit back together, more powerful than it had ever been. He was again the Litch King's- and the Litch King's alone.

"Close your eyes," she murmured, her pale lids shutting, eyelashes soft upon her cheeks. _So you do not see… So you do not have to watch… _

No one heard her- not even Nerzhul. No one but a small ghoul nearby, which turned from its guard post and looked at her.

Her mind reached out, touching the ghoul's, and she comforted it. It had been one she'd touched long ago, and it remembered her. Connected to her now, its vague conscious returned. It turned back to its post and she released it, letting its consciousness flow back within it… and vanish…

Kel'Thuzad said 'practice'.

* * *

Varimathras  
(After The Frozen Throne)

The good news was, no banshees had eaten him yet. The bad news is that he was bored. Yes, a demon was bored. He was so bored, that he'd actually groomed his fur and polished his armor. He was so entirely bored; he'd started doodling on paper. He was at the point of boredom where he was about to lapse into a severe mental breakdown, when something caught his attention. He blinked, turning to see the door to his room open. What crept into his room made him tense.

A succubus. She smirked darkly, rubbing one hoof against the other in a meek and innocent manner. Then, slowly, she wove her way up to where he was sitting against the wall. She came up beside him, slowly straddling his left shoulder, her clawed hands running over his throat and cheek.

Something in him screamed. There was no way, no possible way in hell, that Sylvanis let this succubus in here. She was intruding.

Nothing in his body reacted to that scream, but he barely reacted to the Succubus, quivered as her wingtips traced over his own wings, she gently starting to pry his armor off.

Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. Sylvanis did not like demons. This creature should not be in here!

He groaned, breathing rapidly, almost hyperventilating in a mixture of confusion and eagerness as the Succubus stroked over his chest, roughly tracing old scars. It had been so long… So long since he'd-…

He was beyond that. His mind raced, trying to figure out why this damned creature was in the Undercity as it pushed his armor down further. Sylvanis would never, ever let her in. She was intruding, unless she was some warlock's pet. Even then, Sylvanis wouldn't- she would NEVER tolerate this. The very idea of a succubus and a demon- in her city- she'd go stark raving mad. Sylvanis wasn't an entity of good. But she HATED demons. The idea of her majordomo and a succubus would _not_ please her. Plus, she would view him as incompetent! There was a chance that this was a seduction attempt… In that case, he very, very much needed to get this succubus off of him- But HOW?

He could not resist the allure, shaking violently as she reached around his waist, starting to unclasp the last of his armor.

_SYLVANIS! _

It took around one minute for the succubus's head to be bashed to a bloody pulp against a wall. The warlock, whom was its owner, quickly followed. Apparently, with no sexual implications attached, Varimathras belonged to Sylvanis. And only Sylvanis. She stood there after she had properly disposed of both perpetrators' heads, watching him silently as he reinstated control over his body, raging hormones fading. Then, slowly, he began putting on armor from the waist up- the only armor the succubus had managed to remove. Sylvanis came up, when she was sure he was himself again, and patted him gently on the right horn.

"Good boy."

"…Thank you… My Lady…"

"Ah, but I thank you. You caught a spy, Varimathras, who was sending a distraction to you. Good boy." She turned, walking out, and Varimathras let out a harsh sigh, shivering. That had been to close. He could only imagine how furious Sylvanis would have been if he had failed her… and been 'distracted' by said succubus. "Varimathras?" He looked up at her, but was too weak from stress and strain to manage a reply. "You have earned a bit more freedom. My banshees will no longer guard your door." He nodded weakly, and she left. Varimathras sat down on his bed and then blinked, staring at the door hard.

Sylvanis's banshee's had been guarding the door when the succubus had come in. That meant Sylvanis had already known the spy's distraction was in his room. He hadn't influenced whether she caught the spy or not… but…

Sylvanis had tested him. And he had passed. His attention was to be on one thing only- his dedication to serving the Dark Lady. And by resisting the charm of the succubus, he had proven that dedication. He heard laughter in his thoughts. Sylvanis's laughter.

_So you _aren't _as stupid as you look._ She paused, laughing mentally. _You do not serve yourself and your own pleasure, Varimathras. You serve me. The succubus should not have been there. _


	6. SecondLegOfTheJournies Changes

Now for the Second Leg of the Journey, and the 6th chapter.

The first leg of this story was like the Prologue- there to get you used to the characters. Now we get a story going. As we see, Keever is finally getting some explanations for what the heck is going on. We get a resolution of the quarrel between Illidan and Zul'vii. Varimathras is finally encountering non-feminine problems as a new player appears. And Jaina finally starts fixing her political problems.

* * *

_**Changes**_

* * *

Keever, Mahi Mahi, Night Elf  
(During World of Warcraft)

Keever lifted his head from where he'd rested it. He could not sleep. He was not living. But he now felt exhaustion, and so he rested. They were in a forest now. The trees were thick with life- not dull and filled with malice as were the trees of Tristfal Glades or Silverpine. Where was he? He felt Mahi moving beneath him, the creature's pace slow and steady. As he watched for hours on end, the trees grew larger, larger, and even larger still. Then they vanished, replaced by scattered hills and mountains. Still further, Mahi drew him, and then he gaped in wonder at what he saw. Mammoth trees, far greater than any building he had ever seen, towered above him. Huge vines draped along the ground and stretched throughout the skies. Animals watched from every crevice, every branch. Violet and green leaves twirled to the ground around them as Mahi paused, looking around, and then walked on.

Somehow they were in Kalimdor. They were in the realm of the Night Elves. He didn't wonder how they had reached Kalimdor. He simply gazed in awe at the magnificent trees. They walked for some time, the undead observing the birds above them.

Tyrande Whisperwind moved through the foliage beneath a massive tree. The sentinel's mind was in whirls and torment. She shivered in pain at the thought of her beloved Furion; for he was lost within the Emerald dream, lost somewhere within the Nature Dragons' massive realm, and far beyond even the dragons' reach. Silently, Tyrande said a prayer to Elune, begging her for Furion to be safe… But the Night Elf Priestess quickly turned her attention back to the forest. Something had called her here. Some force of nature bid her come and confer with it. She could feel the pull in herself, in all life around her. The call emanated from the trees and all animals she crossed paths with. Even her mount, whom she had left behind, slowly transmitted the powerful beckoning.

Keever blinked as Mahi suddenly stopped. He turned his head and looked straight ahead of them, silent. The shadows ahead moved, white eyes forming from blackness. A Night Elf crept forward, silent, regarding them both. It was a female, her lithe frame garbed in whirls of armor- less exposing then some of her lower ranking counterparts. Her hair was a curtain of wavy dark blue, her eyes like willow-the-wisps. When she spoke, it was in Darnassian, a language he knew nothing of.

"Mahi…" Tyrande breathed, slowly lowering a short recurved bow. "Divine servant… you return to us…?" Her eyes flicked to Keever and she paused, silent a brief moment. "An undead…? Why do you bring him here, MahiMahi? He is the polar opposite of life." Mahi tossed its head, snorting. Then, gently, it nudged Keever from its back. Immediately, Keever contorted, gripping its mane franticly and looking at it, his one working eye wide. It snorted, as if laughing, and gently pushed his legs off its back, tilting its body so that it was between him and the elf. Keever slowly dropped to the ground, his skeletal hands clinging tightly to Mahi's mane. The elf tilted her head to the side, watching Mahi gently detach his grip. Then Mahi transformed again. Everything shortened and heightened into a tall, slender, raceless being. It was a good eight feet tall, a tad taller then Tyrande, and it dwarfed Keever. It had smooth light- brown skin and green hair streaked with orange. Its eyes were emerald green… and it, too, was strangely feminine. Mahi smiled gently at Keever, patting the stunned and confused undead's shoulder gently. Then, it looked back at Tyrande, and strode silently up to the Night Elf Priestess.

_Tyrande Whisperwind,_ it said, nodding to her. Tyrande nodded back, lowering her eyes in respect for the awesome being before her.

"Mahi… You have returned to us… What is it you desire?" Mahi smiled, tilting its head to the side.

"… Ah… Furion." Tyrande flinched and Mahi nodded sympathetically, patting Tyrande on the shoulder much in the way she had Keever. Then, Mahi lifted its hand, touching Tyrande's forehead. Instantly, images whirled into Tyrande's conscious. Images of Illidan combating Arthas and falling, his violet blood sprayed over the snow. And then there was an image of hope. A young Troll healer picked up his broken body, cradling his torso and head and pouring energy into him. Satyrs and a Tauren helped her lift the demon night elf, baring him to safety. Some period in the past swirled before the Priestess- of two lovers, caught within 'no time', in the clutches of a demon. The teleport scroll had freed their child, sending it randomly out into space in time…

And the babe landed, survived, and matured. Matured just in time to save Illidan Stormrage from the void of Frostmourne. Her aura brought life and hope to elves tainted with death and magic, and saved _him_ from an early grave.

_Curatio._

Elsewhere, a litch raised a child with elemental abilities. Her energy poured into litch, and cat; ghoul, frost wyrm, and eagle. It swam into things, spurring compassion and inner life. In a different way, it returned souls to bodies and minds to heads.

_Trua._

And then a cat discovered an undead, her aura infusing his spirit with strength, pulling his spirit out of nothingness and binding it back into him. A Half Elf died… and in his guilt she strengthened his compassion. Life poured back into his dead husk- a living being- even if encased in a dead vessel.

_Mahi._

Onward the visions spiraled, showing an orc and a human that collaborated and laughed. A demon was loyal to a banshee, and a banshee laughed in mirth for the first time since undeath. Tauren and Night Elf collaborated, fighting demons out of the natural regions of the world. And somewhere, somewhere, Furion was working… and very much alive.

_Hope. Work. Peace._

Mahi released Tyrande's mental conscious, watching the Night Elf stumble, holding her head. Slowly, the priestess lifted her head, looking at Mahi with eyes that had not teared in ages long forgotten. Now tears spilled, dripping to the ground below.

"Hope?" she whispered, shuddering. Mahi just smiled gently, patting Tyrande gently on the shoulder once more. Tyrande slid to her knees, slowly regaining composure as her tears dripped to the ground. "Hope for what…? For peace?" Mahi nodded, kneeling and gently rubbing the elf's shoulder blade, trying to reassure the poor creature.

_For life in place of death. Light in place of darkness. My God works through all things. Work. Fight. Do not give into war. Do not give into hatred or conflict. Fight- but not each other. Elune bless you. Cenarius watch over you. Above all, God strengthen you. There is still hope._ With that, Mahi stood, gliding back over to Keever. The poor undead was shaking at this time, still feeling unstable away from his companion. Mahi merely smiled down at him.

Mahi never spoke. Its words were ideas and whirls that passed through one's mind, and organized themselves as words. It lifted a hand, gently stroking through his pale maroon hair.

_Keever…_ it murmured, gently wrapping its arms around its companion. The undead shuddered, returning the embrace and slowly relaxing. Tyrande looked on, a bit repulsed, but strangely moved by the scene. The divine being gently cradled the undead. Mahi was his last link to life- to his own soul. He clung to it tightly, frightened to leave its presence lest he die again, and all life drain out of him. Lest he lose the only creature alive that cared if he died. He needed help. He had no idea what he'd gotten into by showing compassion and mercy, and allowing Mahi to strengthen the life within him. He had no idea what he'd gotten into.

"Undead," the Priestess said in crisp, accented Common. Keever quivered, looking past Mahi's arm at her. "You follow the Mahi willingly?" Slowly, the undead nodded. Tyrande fingered her bow and then nodded to herself. "I know why Mahi lets you follow it. I know _about _the MahiMahi. Come, follow me and I will explain everything." Keever looked uncertainly up at Mahi, but the creature nodded to him, steering him toward Tyrande and gently pushing him toward her. Keever swallowed, but crept after the Night Elf, with Mahi following along behind him. Tyrande paused a moment, waiting for him to catch up, and then continued walking, looking down at him with some measure of interest, her long ears twitching at every sound around them.

"So, undead, what guise did the Mahi come to you in?" Keever looked at the ground, rubbing the roof of his mouth with his pointed violet tongue.

"Cat," he said simply.

"A cat? Mahi must like the Night Elves and their panthers more than I thought," Tyrande said, amused. Keever scowled to himself, glaring at the ground.

"No laugh." Tyrande lifted a brow, eyeing him.

"Ahh… you cannot talk correctly, can you?" Keever snarled, stopping and sliding back to MahiMahi's side. Tyrande laughed and stopped walking, looking back at him. "You are right to feel safe by its side. Stay close to it- it is your only link to salvation." Intrigued, Keever crept forward a bit and looked at her.

"How you know these things?"

"Mahi are beings of divine and holy energy."

"More than one?" Tyrande hesitated.

"There is only one Mahi at a time."

"And… it is… neuter?" he asked uncertainly. "You used 'it'." Tyrande smiled, nodding.

"The Mahi is neuter until it picks a companion. Why it picks a companion, or what it desires one for- as no Mahi ever mates -is beyond mortal comprehension. Once they pick a companion, they begin to become more and more like the gender opposite their companion's- like a partner in marriage. So it would be correct for you to use 'it' or 'she.'" Keever went silent, staring up at Tyrande.

"Picked… Keever?"

"Is that your name, Undead?" He nodded pathetically, looking up at her in confusion and uncertainty. "Yes. Mahi picked you."

"Why…?"

"I was about to ask you that question, considering I have no idea why Mahi would pick such a lowly and disgusting creature." Keever snarled lightly.

"Nice, mean, nice, mean, nice… Pick a side." The Priestess of Elune laughed again.

"I am on the side of 'Disgusted but tolerating and interested.' " He snorted, casting his one-eyed gaze at the ground.

"Why does it hurt when… Mahi… leaves… …me…?"

"It is said that undead do not have souls within them. Their souls are bound _to_ them, in order that they are to be fueled with movement, and reanimation… But their souls are not _in_ them. They feel no compassion… no emotion but logical ones. Like anger. And revenge."

"Yes. Keever… used to be that way."

"Mahi is a divine being. She feeds you with Life and restores your soul. Thus, you are technically, if not clinically, close to alive. When she is not around, the essence of Life is cut off from you, and you begin to die. What you feel is desperation to get back to her- to Life."

"…Who are you…?" he asked after a long moment.

"Tyrande Whisperwind." Immediately, his head jerked up, and he gazed at her in some disgust, and some awe.

"You lead the Night Elves… With… Malfurion Stormrage." She tried not to grimace at the mention over her Love's name, and nodded. "Keever should well be dead by now."

"Our people know the Mahi well. It… or she… is a spirit of life. We trust her judgment in bringing you here. She knows more than we do."

"Why has no other race ever heard of Mahi?" he questioned after a few more moments.

"They have. The Humans call them 'angels,' and deem them the divine beings of light and life, whilst we sometimes associate them with night."

"And the other races?"

"I would not know. I have not questioned orc, dwarf, gnome, or troll mythology, though that would make an excellent question to ask Thrall, if ever we meet on peaceful terms again. I believe Tauran call them spirits of the earth, of the Great Mother, Gaea, the Earth Spirit."

"Why does your race know so much?"

"Because we have longer memories then the other races of this world. We live longer, and we pass on more to our children." Again the undead went quiet, slipping back beside MahiMahi. The great divine being smiled down at him simply, like a child and like a mother, and half hugged him with one arm in a comforting way.

"And why are you helping me, Tyrande Whisperwind? What am I supposed to do that I need to know all this?" Keever asked darkly. Tyrande looked back at him over her shoulder.

"You know what an angel is, don't you, Keever?" He nodded, slowly. "Angels are very, very busy things. They carry the weight of 'The Great Mother' on their shoulders, and the fate of the world. You have no idea what you've gotten into. You have no idea what you are now."

"And what am… I…?"

"You're the companion of an angel, Keever. You're the companion of a being whose mission it is to save this world from itself. The chief entity in the fight against demons… scourge… and all darkness in this world. Expect battles unlike those you have ever seen. Expect pain… and expect trials."

"And Life…"

"And triumph. Lasting triumph. The kind that never fades… the kind that instills… fulfillment."

"What must I do…?" he asked after a long moment.

"Don't leave her. Don't let her out of your sight, even if she tries to get you to stay behind. And take care of her. Try to make sure she eats, even though she doesn't have to."

"Why?"

"Because the more mortal she is, the stronger she is, the longer she'll live."

"… What happens if she dies?"

"It takes a thousand years for the next Mahi to be born. So this world will be doomed to sink into war and chaos once more."

"And what will happen to me?" Tyrande paused, blinking, and shrugged.

"I don't know," she said, and continued walking.

"Where are you leading Keever?"

"To a safer place, to explain more."

* * *

Zul'vii, Illidan, Kael, Vashj  
(Right After the Frozen Throne)

Illidan loathed being in debt to the Troll. He loathed even more knowing that he could not leave, for she was the only one who could save him from death. Even now he could feel Frostmourne's biting cold throughout his shoulder and chest. But he could not bring himself to ask for food- he was too prideful. And thus he sat, brooding, at the edge of the camp. He watched the bonfire ahead, around which Satyr danced. Some High Elves, brightened so much by the change in atmosphere, danced as well. Even some Naga could be seen improvising for movements that required legs. He snorted to himself, spreading out his wings a bit, letting them touch the crisp cool air. Quickly, before even Kael or Vashj could locate him, he felt a familiar presence at his side. Zul'vii sat a plate consisting of various foods; such as fish, meat, vegetables and fruit; promptly on his lap. He made a bitter, resentful face, but she left without a word. Slowly he looked at the meal, growling to himself and debating on whether or not to dash it to the ground. Hunger won out, and he consumed the meal slowly and with great hatred. Kael, noticing his lord's face at the far end of camp, frowned.

It was beginning to seem that the only way this would be resolved, was if Illidan and Zul'vii fought. He wasn't healing fast enough to recover completely. Why he hated the woman who had selflessly saved his life was beyond Kaelthalas. All he knew was that the tension was growing. Illidan _loathed_ her.

(Some Time Later)

Illidan stood over Zul'vii's prone form, watching her sleep. Slowly he knelt down beside her, gripping a warblade tightly in one head. His reason for being there was irrational and stupid. He would die if he killed her. And she had already saved his life. But his mind was in chaotic rage. All he understood was he hated this being. He hated her. He wanted her dead. The warblade moved slowly under her neck, warmed by a gentle immolation, so as not to wake her with cold steel. He savored the moment. Just a twitch. Just a tiny, little twitch would end her life, spilling her blood over the ground in a wound that would never heal. Zul'vii stirred lightly, curling up in a ball… And promptly began to suck her thumb.

Illidan blinked and stared. Just stared, in complete and utter silence. _That_ was not something he had really expected. In fact it left him just staring at the creature before him, realizing how frail and pitiful it was. It had amazing speed and strength. Its healing aura permeated all things. But its skin was untouched by age. It was mortal. The slightest injury to the neck could end its life, whereas he had survived Frostmourne's blade across his entire chest. It was gentle, and delicate- not more than a teenager (at least the troll or elfin equivalent). It was a child… Just a child… He pulled back, disgusted with it and with himself, not sure what to do now.

Slowly he moved the warblade from her neck, looking down at her silently. "I _hate _you," he whispered. "Expect no thanks from me. But I am not… _yet_… a murderer." He turned, whirling out of her tent and stalking out into the snow. After some time, he dropped slowly to his knees, letting the enchanted robes do their work to keep him warm as he stuck his warblades upright into the ground and sighed to himself, lowering his head. Cold air whipped his violet hair past his face and he sighed out in a breath of vapor, silent and still.

_Why this emptiness…? Why this overwhelming emptiness…?_ He slowly touched the bandaged wound across his chest and looked down at it, feeling its void across him. _I should have died. I should have died out there in the cold… I live… Arthas will pay… Oh, he will pay…_ He brooded, silent, angry, and dark. Snow began to fall, covering his hair in a light layer of crystalline frost, and he remained silent. After a long time, he sensed the light sound of crunching snow. Slowly he turned his attention to the creature beside him. The Troll.

"Tell me," he said after a moment of silence. "What hellish circumstances brought an elf and troll to produce such bastard offspring?"

"Well, they tell me because of love. But I tend to lean toward the 'wouldn't have anyone to make fun of if they left one another' relationship." He tilted his head.

"They live, then?" Zul'vii looked at the ground, shifting the snow with one four-toed foot.

"… No… That's why people say I'm crazy. Because I hear them in my mind. Bickering, bickering, always bickering. I think their souls stay with me, even though they're long dead." Illidan lifted a brow, smiling sadistically.

"Indeed?" She snorted, turning away and crossing her arms. She would be so easy to kill…

"Have your fun. But that's what I hear." He chuckled rather rudely, picking up a war blade and balancing it on the back of his hand. She glared over at him, her mottled green lizard eyes narrowing. "You are a rude little antihero, aren't you?" He tilted his head to the side, 'eying' her.

"First off troll, I stand a good ten feet tall. I am in no way little. Second off, define antihero."

"First off, Illidan, you would be little to a giant. It all depends on perspective. Second off, an antihero is a protagonist, a hero of a story, with absolutely no heroic qualities whatsoever, and quite often opposite of heroic qualities." He laughed darkly, tossing his blade into the air and catching it in his hand, standing up.

"And that depends on perspective. I could also be the villain." He smirked, turning and pointing a warblade at her. "Fight me." She blinked, shaking her head.

"No. Why should I fight you?"

"Fight me, or I kill you without impediment." She took a step backwards, staring at him.

"Illidan…" she said uncertainly

"Fair warning." He charged at her, his cloven feet moving swiftly over the snow. She jumped backwards, having to turn and sprint away from him, latching onto a tree and quickly hoisting herself up as he nearly cleaved her head off. "Ah… Are you such a coward?" he said tauntingly, smiling up at her.

"I won't fight you, Illidan!"

"Then you are going to die," he said, smiling, and touched the tree. His whole body filled with agony, but it was overwhelmed by his hatred, and ecstasy at feeling the magic in him once again. The slender pine immolated and she shrieked, falling and getting lodged between two burning branches, jerking wildly to get free, picking out a tomahawk and hacking at the thinnest of her two captors. Illidan smirked, hefted one blade, and with deadly precision, hurled it directly at her chest. She looked at him silently, pleadingly, and did not move her axe to block the blow. It slit cleanly through her breast bone and spinal cord, dividing both in half. She had only a moment to freeze up in shock before going limp, her blood spurting out and fueling the flames of the tree.

The Demonhunter released the tree and the immolation ended, leaving the girl pinned to the tree by the warblade, and either dead or close to it. Slowly he reached up, pulling himself into a tree, and easily balanced along the branch, moving up to the girl. He knelt down, examining her carcass with his spectral sight and watching the life ebb out of it.

To a degree, it pleased him.

To a degree, it was empty. He was too weak to call forward his filling magic again, and magic was the only thing that fulfilled him. He reached forward, gripping the warblade and yanking it out of her with a swift jerk. More blood spewed forward, from a heart that had not given up so easily, but was failing just the same. He was satisfied. Deftly, he slipped the warblade under her neck, aiming to decapitate her in case it had troll regeneration.

_Yet._

He was hit with such revulsion he hurled the blade from him and promptly spewed the contents of his stomach to the side. He would not be avenged. He was going to die here. He was going to die because some nameless hatred made him kill a child. A child. Now he was a murderer. She hadn't even defended herself. She'd said she wouldn't defend herself. His brain was tormented with a million guilts he had never dealt with- never thought he could feel. And he shuddered at the realization that he was _dead._ He, the 'antihero' had been saved to complete his purpose. He had been manipulated. Something, somewhere, had manipulated him. And now a child was dead. Now he was dead. He'd failed.

He was alone. A wretched, terrible form of life. Half demon, half mortal, with no true allegiance. No true purpose. And no chance at surviving. He was _nothing._ Something crackled venomously next to him and he turned his head, lost already in dark brooding. Then he froze, staring down at the troll. Her gaping chest wound closed slowly, knitting back together. The shattered spinal cord reconstructed, pierced organs once again moving with their normal functions. The heart sped up again, fed with new blood, as massively quick regeneration pulled her back to Life. Immediately he was assaulted with regret. His eyes flamed and he gripped his remaining warblade, almost… almost ready to decapitate the healing creature.

_NO._ He insisted to himself. _You cannot do that. You have to survive. You have to avenge yourself. You CANNOT kill her. You cannot even think of it. _He closed his eyes, soothing the unnatural hatred, before creeping back over to the troll. He reached out the hand, shaking her shoulder and she convulsed, gasping and sitting up. She looked around and then glared up at him.

"You _killed_ me!" She shouted, looking quite vexed. He snarled, glaring back sightlessly.

"You're alive now, aren't you? So evidently I did not succeed." She curled her nose at him and touched her chest slowly to make sure everything was as it should be.

"Why haven't you tried again, then?" He stiffened, sneering at her.

"It would be stupid to kill you when I need your healing to survive."

"Stop insulting your own intelligence," she hissed, standing up and surveying her bloody clothes. He growled, tensing, half ready to go ahead and kill her anyway. Then she eyed him, surveying him as well. "You shouldn't be out here. I came to get you to tell you no one's using the hot tubs right now, so you could have some privacy warming up if you wanted." His hand tightened on the blade, his anger almost beyond his control. Then, Zul'vii stepped up to him, reaching up through the heated robs and touching the bandage, slowly pulling it a bit down from the wound. He cried out in agony, stumbling lightly and straining not to whip his blade at her. She moved her hand, touching Frostmourne's scar, and his world went wild as he whited out, still conscious, staggering on the branch. She threw one arm around him, pulling him back to her, where the branch was thicker, and continued feeding Life into the horrid wound. He cried out in agony and relief, and then went limp in her arms, cradled against her as Life reclaimed him, forcing out all pain and suffering till nothing was left but a child's gentle embrace. The emptiness was gone… And, slowly, unconsciousness overwhelmed him.

_I will help you, Illidan Stormrage. I won't hurt you. Trust me… Trust me, even though I know everything in you hates any of your actions to be foreseen or manipulated. But see me… See me through your hatred… See me as I have seen you. As I have seen good in you. I will not hurt you, Illidan… I want to help. I will help, even if no one else will._

Illidan stirred weakly and shuddered, touching the scar across his chest. The touch ached, but it was no where near the hellfire that had so recently greeted any jarring of the wound. He retracted his hand quickly, blindly gazing above him. There was a moment of silence, and then a voice whispered softly, "Are you awake?" His ear twitched lightly, and he 'looked' in the direction of the speaker, not really registering the voice. "Good morning. You slept a long time." He didn't move or answer, too weak to comprehend what words were greeting him.

"He is still disoriented, half troll," a hissing, slithering voice said from some ways away. "He doesn't know which way is down, much less what you're saying." Illidan shifted lightly, moving a bit. Then, slowly, weakly, he propped himself up.

"… Shut up… Vashj…" he murmured broodingly, staring off at nothing. A moment of surprise and a soft, hissing laugh answered that statement.

"Yes, my lord," she answered, backing off.

"Are you alright?" the other voice asked. He shifted a bit, letting his mind slowly comprehend what was desired of him.

"Reasonably…" he said slowly. Realization sparked him and his hand darted out, catching Zul'vii's arm (She having been the one who had spoken to him first). He turned his head toward her, shuddering. "What the hell did you do to me?" he hissed out.

"Alas. You are much friendlier when disoriented." He growled, clenching one hand, but she laughed, stroking his hair gently. "It's alright. I helped you sleep, because we needed to move further south. It was easier on you that way, without being woken by the movement or bothered by thought. And, as you've probably noticed, it gave me time to work on Frostmourne's wound, and to encourage it to heal. Your warblades are here, if you were wondering."

It took great… great effort…for Illidan to let go of her arm. Yet he did so, laying back against his bed. "How… long have I slept…?"

"Around a week. You should eat, even if you are not hungry. I fed you water, but water is not enough to sustain a person. You like fruit?" he didn't answer as she pushed a strong, sweet smelling fruit to his lips. He lifted a brow, tilting his head toward her, as if saying, 'you really think I'm going to let you feed me?'

"I can feed my-" she pushed the fruit in and grinned as he tensed, glaring blindly at her. She smiled but didn't laugh, patting him gently on the head.

"Sure you can. But why bother doing that when you can get someone to do it for you?" He would have killed her then. He really would, if he had not made, deep within him, an oath not to give into his rage. Instead he spit it into her face, crossing his arms loosely over his chest (Which proceeded to ache), and grinning smugly to himself. Unfortunately for both of them, Zul'vii had Myev for a mother and Zul'jin for a father. The stubbornness was bound to run in the family. The ensuing wrestling match was quickly won over by the troll (as the demon was as weak as a rag doll). She succeeded first in prying his mouth open, and second in keeping him from spitting it out. However, both Illidan and Zul'vii were deeply stubborn creatures, and while Zul'vii might be able to physically force food into him, she couldn't get him to chew or swallow. So both just glared at each other, she holding his jaws shut tight until he gave in and tried to chew instead of break free.

"You know, we can sit here another ten thousand years, two crazy people, until you eat. Vashj was laughing lightly in the background at the struggle, grinning at them both. He didn't speak, as it would be undignified to hiss it out through his teeth when his jaws were clamped shut and his mouth filled with food. She looked at him darkly a moment and he glared back with hate. He watched her expression falter lightly, and then she made a small concession. "If I let go, you will eat? Everything? You won't just sit there and brood and barely touch your food?" He was silent a long moment. Then he gave a terse nod and she let go. She was rewarded with getting spat at again. This got fruit juice in one of her eyes, something she complained about as he fulfilled his promise, eating the fruit she'd brought. Apparently Illidan was a bit more stubborn. Either that, or Zul'vii was just nicer. One of the two. After he'd eaten, both thoroughly ignored each other for a moment, sending Vashj into silent tremors of laughter. They really were two of a kind in respect to stubbornness. Both, upon noticing at the same instance, glared at her.

* * *

Jaina  
(Some time between World of Warcraft and the Frozen Throne)

Jaina Proudmoore sat quietly, proudly under the attacks of all the ambassadors. Some of them were leaders from other nations, and some where merely emissaries. All of them, upon her vast proclamation of repeals and changes in policy, were outraged. Instead of their puppet queen curbing things to their advantage, Jaina had done the opposite- she had strengthened trade lines with goblins two fold, most of which was with the orcs. Massive water supply routes had been reconnected with the Night Elves. North watch Hold's activity had been suspended and troops were being sent from Theramore to retake the Hold in the name of Miss Proudmoore- and, consequently, to put down any rebellion against her. From there, the hold would be transformed into a more Alliance oriented trading point- of course allowing partial government by Ratchet, as it would be dreadful to incur the wrath of the trade princes. And she had limited raids. Of all the things, this angered the Alliance the most. They gave threats and angry blackmail, but she sat quiet and proud, unyielding. This was right. She was right. And this had to be done.

Jaina had returned to Thrall with every treaty she could think of, even ones that had been hidden back in her files since ancient times. Each and every one, the noble Orc Warchief had helped her sort through. Using their combined intellect and knowledge, they had somehow managed to cast down the bulk of new Alliance treaties, and drawn up new ones. Though they hadn't found a way to evacuate and abandon North Watch Hold, they had found grounds on which for her to seize control over it. Thus, in the future, she might be able to leave it back to the orcs. After the shouting had died down, and the emissaries were collectively waiting an answer, Jaina looked silently, impassively at them all.

"Gentlemen," she said simply, "I have taken your words to heart and thoroughly examined them." She paused, gripping her staff tighter as her audience eagerly awaited what they thought would be submission. "And I find them flawed. Any world in which Alliance and Horde bicker meaninglessly over something like trade- a wonderful phenomenon that, may I include, has bolstered our navy to twice what it was last year and kept our people clothed, housed, and fed- is a very flawed world filled with nothing whatsoever but war. If two nations can be at peace, it is logical they should be. As the orcs, once informed of my own treaty changes, have made similar, friendly agreements, I must only conclude that peace is a possibility. Therefore, I must conclude it would be the epitome of stupidity to blindly throw away peace and prosperity in favor of starting a war no one can win. That is my final answer. I will not withdraw my repeals or new laws. I have given you my reasons, and I find I am not persuaded by your spiteful aggressions toward my position as leader of this new island nation. If there is not to be peace with the orcs, then we have doomed ourselves to eternal war. No one… will ever… win. Good day."

And thus she stood, and she turned, and she left. Now she had to talk to Thrall… before the Alliance found out about the Horde considering a new type of alliance…

* * *

Ghoul, Ketala  
(Several years after The Frozen Throne)

A long time ago, way back in the distant ages of the world, there was a young man, a half elf to be entirely correct, by the name of Eldiaren among elves, and by the name of Erin among humans. Now that being stood before Ketala, mostly muscle and bone. His eyes had long ago rotten out, and his hair had become ratted and decayed. Scraps of cloth clung to his limbs at various places, and there was a weak mimicry of shorts clinging around his bone and sinew hips. His skull was brown and red, his teeth rooted in by magic, and strengthened to become sharp and prominent from his jaw in a grotesque fashion. His finger bones were sharpened into distinct claws, and rot dripped from all corners of his body. He was a ghoul, his new mind nestled safely within the recesses of Ketala's power- only his whenever her aura was touching him. He came up to her, unobserved by any undead around him, his skeletal nasal passages drawing in air and analyzing the smell. He grunted softly, rubbing his rotting, domed head against her side as she smiled, stroking over his disgusting back. His memory of life was weak, and his memory of undeath non-existant. He remembered his names, and when his mind was his, he would go to anyone who called him by either name. He knew a few things of old- not enough to be repulsed by what he was… And he knew Ketala's smell. He knew the faint taste of power and safety, the onset of death without ever really rotting, of life within a seemingly undead vessel. Absently, Ketala directed two Abominations in a war against one another, trying to see if either monstrosity had any weaknesses. But though she seemed to be concentrating on them, the whole of her mind was focused on Eldiaren as he examined her fingertips. He was tall, around six foot, but he hunched, and was thusly shorter then the average sized Ketala. He was a curious creature when his mind was his, and he examined her armor and clothing. Sometimes he remembered a word for something, and his mind would emanate it to her alone. As he examined her fingers and wrist armor, she received such words as 'steel,' 'silk,' 'finger,' and various other names.

_Ketala?_ he asked softly, having quickly picked up on her name.

_Yes, Eldiaren?_ He fell silent, staring at nothing. _It's okay, Eidiaren… Try to remember…_

The ghoul 'looked' up at her.

_Mine._ He said simply. Ketala smiled, kneeling down and pulling the ghoul tenderly against her, rubbing its rotting back.

_Yes… Yes… Your Ketala. My Eidiaren._ He was like a child. An undead child. Beneath his disgusting form, and the mad, evil will of the litch king, was pure, innocent curiosity, and vague leftovers of a mind. That was all. No malice or cruelty. All evil in the Scourge stemmed from one single, indomitable force- The Litch King. The Abominations stopped hacking at each other, and wandered over to Ketala. Absently, she tested their minds. Unfortunately, she found the same problem as with all other Abominations; Abominations had no minds. They had brains, yes, but these were composed of various parts of rotted brain matter from various different corpses, all heaped together in a rude imitation of a brain. Abominations also had patchwork souls, tiny bits all sewn together to power the massive meat-tanks. Thus, because of these two sources being lacking in sufficient information, Abominations experienced no characteristics of a sane being. They could, however, imitate a crude form of animalistic characteristics, and thus they were called to her bidding, just as all other creatures were.

Eidiaren, however, was not alone. Ketala had had ample time to practice her abilities, and seven other ghouls (Slightly less developed in comparison to Eidiaren), came to her call. She summoned another one now, letting both ghouls examine each other with shakings of disgust and curiosity. With both thinking and occupied, Ketala sighed, lifting her head and looking slowly around the camp. She paused, blinking, and then went still as she gazed off in one direction. Manflesh.

_Guardian._ _Humans._ Her mind radiated out information to him, directing him to the source of the smell of Human flesh. The entire camp mobilized, and Ketala released control over her four current charges, letting them be swept up in the Litch King's control. She unsheathed both scimitars, and ran forward. Humans should not be this close to the city. They would need to be dealt with. Ketala felt approval from her guardian, her link to the Litch King's will, and her eyes flamed, driving her forward with the vigor and speed of a Demonhunter.

"Nox et Pyro!" she screamed, driving into the ranks of the humans. Her scimitars parried blows and then curved and slit through the air with the greatest of ease, slicing through the ranks of her enemy. Past the initial soldiers were archers, who crumbled defenselessly under her blows. Several arrows nicked her armor- those that threatened her face or arms were deflected, even at point blank. Anub'Arak had done well. He knew fighting styles to a 'T,' and it paid off in the massive amount of damage she inflicted whilst sustaining very little of her own.

And then something ripped a massive chunk out of her. It was not on the physical level… no… It was far, far deeper. _EIDIAREN!_ The elemental girl raised a blade, trying in vain to deflect an arrow. The blow thudded into her shoulder; Ketala mentally yanked the ghoul away from the paladin that was cleaving through it, and sent him limping to the back of the ranks. The chunk of her being was replaced in layers, and her concentration returned, allowing her to once more systematically bring down foe after foe. But now she was worried. Her mind darted from Eidiaren to her other ghouls, knowing that they were but cannon fodder- first to charge and first to die. She drew them back out of the way of harm, whenever a blade threatened to cleave them in two. She gave them reason- the power to attack systematically and without exposing them to the greatest risk. She gave them team work instead of simple overwhelming mass.

Lastly, her mind drifted to the very Humans she fought. Said Humans began to flee quickly afterwards. What was left of them sprinted back through the mountains, as those few who remained were obliterated. Gargoyles and ghouls were sent out to track them down and destroy them. And then all was silent as the Scourge moved back to their original places. Ketala blinked, looking around, and then went very quite and very still, not even disabling the elemental power of her scimitars.

The Scourge had no victories. They could not cheer. They could not feel joy or victory or triumph. The only things that could even feel success or satisfaction were Kel'Thuzad, Arthas, and the necromancers. No one celebrated. No one congratulated. All was expected, and all was mindless, and all was silent. All but several little ghouls, which investigated an elemental spirit, examined her for wounds, and removed the arrow from her shoulder. Those that understood what death was emanated that they were pleased she had not died. But that was all the emotion that accompanied a Scourge 'victory'.

Ketala looked down at her blades and sighed softly to herself. She murmured another word, and they returned to normal scimitars. After a moment, she sheathed them, and looked around. Off to the side were several abominations and some Acolytes escorting Kel'Thuzad. On further examination, Ketala discovered something worrisome. Apparently this group of Humans had possessed several high ranking paladins. Kel'Thuzad had several crushed ribs and half his chest was blackened entirely. Not only that, but his mental presence wasn't as pronounced.

He was hurt.

_Ketala._

_Yes, Guardian?_

_Direct the ghouls and gargoyles in their search._ Endlessly obedient, Ketala turned and lifted her head, sending her awareness out to the ground and air troops. But in her mind, she comprehended what this order meant. Kel'Thuzad was hurt badly, if he could not keep his concentration on the search and destroy effort. Or, perhaps, he was testing her ability. Whatever the reason, she had been commanded, and so she obeyed.

Scents flooded to her from the ghouls. There was the smell of fear… of blood and of men… Gargoyles saw footprints and silhouettes, all heading in blind fear away from the Plaguelands. Emptily, Ketala sought them out. Gargoyles swept down into crevices to explore. As soon as their echolocation found a living being, ghouls swarmed into the hiding places and eradicated all life. It was grim and efficient, and soon Ketala was drawing them all back to her. Her eyes- her own eyes- scanned the world around her. Slowly her gaze paused once more, and she stared down at a burnt and mutilated creature at her feet. It was an elfin cleric- a channeler of divine light as opposed to arcane healing. His chest rose and fell weakly, quickly as he tried to bring in air through broken ribs. Ketala was silent a long moment. But, ultimately, she knelt down. Ketala was a being of empathy. She was incapable of leaving something to suffer long. It needed to die, or it needed to live. Slowly, Ketala tilted her head to the side. Then she reached forward, touching his bloodstained blonde hair. Curiosity replaced hatred, and she examined the noble features of this being. He groaned weakly as she touched his face, feeling the warmth of life and of divine light beneath against her fingertips. Slowly, his white eyes fluttered open. When he saw her he gave a cry of panic, trying to jerk away. All he succeeded in doing was hurting himself, bringing pain from down where his ribs were broken. He cried out again, clutching his torso weakly and looking up at her in horror.

Ketala blinked, never having witnessed such fear in a fellow creature. Then, quickly, he turned away, muttering in elfin and slipping in phrases in human such as, "Oh, kill me quick, hellspawn!" Ketala lifted a brow in confusion, fingering the hilts of her scimitars. Then, slowly, she unsheathed one blade, eyeing him. He cringed at the sound of metal being drawn. She lowered her head, examining his attire and a symbol across his chest, which appeared to be an anvil or hammer with wings. Blood was in the way; she couldn't quite tell which it was. Curiously, she lowered a hand, placing her hand on the symbol and tracing it. He shuddered, but the strangeness of the situation caused him to look back at her. She moved her whirling, color changing eyes from the symbol to his face, and then asked in heavily accented words, "What is this? This picture?" He shuddered and stared at her, somewhere in morbid fascination, confusion, and downright terror. Her voice was bizarre, almost sounding ethereal, as she had all her life copied Kel'Thuzad's voice- the only other being she had heard speak. Her voice was part magical, part physical, so the words were distinct and strong sounding even though her throat- without byproducts of life processes such as a necessity, mucus- produced a gravely accompaniment to the sound of her words.

Alas, the elf could not help answering this creature. He, like everything else, was drawn to her powerful aura- her ability to make things 'like' her.

"…It is… the symbol… of the Silver Hand…" She docked her head to the side.

"What is that?"

"An order of Paladins… and…Priests…" He shuddered, choking up blood, and she looked piteously at him.

"You can't heal yourself?"

"No… energy…" he whispered out, covering his mouth and spitting blood into his hand. Ketala looked sympathetically down at the dying elf, remembering her own half elfin ghoul. Then she smiled, and reassuringly tapped the priest on the shoulder. She knelt down and whispered softly to him

"I will kill you quickly. Then I will make sure there is nothing left of you for them to use." His eyes widened and he looked at her, silent. He didn't protest as she hefted her scimitar. She gave him one, last, sorry look, and then lopped his head off with one powerful stroke. When she had finished dismembering him in such a way that not even abomination constructors could find a use for him, she picked up a tattered piece of the symbol. It was saturated with red blood now, and nearly indistinguishable from a wet, purplish rag. Carefully, she traced the pattern into her mind and memorized it, before dropping the piece and standing up. Kel'Thuzad had been hurt. It was her duty to find out what was wrong with her Guardian.

* * *

Varimathras, Sylvanis, Paladin... Jealousy  
(Some time after The Frozen Throne)

"Dark Lady?"

"Yes, demon?"

"The Horde has accepted us as allies. We need fear no attack from Kalimdor. I have the trade routes you had your servants draw up-"

"Leave them on the ledge. I will get to looking at it… eventually. Oh, Varimathras. This is Kadre. He and an orc will be leading the assault on Plaguelands… for now at least." Varimathras looked up from where he was kneeling, seeing the Argent Dawn leader standing there.

Immediately, Varimathras comprehended one, single, prevailing emotion. Sheer, utter, jealousy. 'The leader of the assault on the Plaguelands'? Not 'the leader of the Argent Dawn detachment'? He scented competition- a downsizing of the Dreadlord's value. And Sylvanis never let _him_ speak to her as an equal.


	7. progression in a positive direction

**_Progression_**

**_

* * *

_**

Ketala, Kel'Thuzad, Eldiaren, Spell Breaker, Thrash

Ketala found the Litch sitting in his seat in the planning room. He was soaked from head to hip (he had nothing lower then his hips) in trolls blood potions and a whispery crumbling sound came from him as each tiny movement sent portions of his ribcage to ash heaps on the ground.

"Guardian?" she inquired instantly. He looked at her wearily, one of his tusks half missing. "Will you be alright?" He bared his teeth, a sign which Ketala had come to recognize as 'pleased.'

"In time," he said emotionlessly. "But do not attempt to touch or, as you are so irritatingly prone to do, hug me." Ketala looked at the ground, nodding in obedience.

"Do you desire me not to hug you again, ever, Guardian?" He bared his teeth a bit more, tilting his back and looking at her a long moment.

"Do you desire to hug me, Ketala?"

"Yes, Guardian."

"Then never hug me again."

"Yes, Guardian," she said with some reluctance. His glowing eyes narrowed.

"You hesitate?"

"No, Guardian." He eyed her darkly, slowly standing up.

"And now you lie."

"No, Guardian. I did not hesitate. I am eternally obedient. I merely dislike not doing something I like." His eyes flamed blue. He had been a fool for thinking he could keep her mind intact. She was too human. She had WILL! A will of her own!

"Come here, Ketala," he said in a low voice. She obeyed instantly, coming up to him. He glared down at her as if she were the most disgusting thing he had ever come across. "It seems I've still been too lenient." He lifted a clawed, burnt hand, reaching forward and gripping the top of her head painfully. Then he produced an acolyte sacrificial dagger. Remove all traces of the brain- remove her will and her mind. Ketala lifted her eyes slightly.

"Guardian?" He snarled bitterly to himself, but decided to let her get a last word in.

"What is it?"

"Please don't hurt me." He paused, arching a skeletal brow. Well. That was odd. He'd never heard her protest before, not even when he'd killed her. His curiosity perked, he decided to question her. He had all the time in the world.

"You weren't afraid when I killed you. Why do you protest now?"

"You told me you'd still be with me after I was undead. So I did not fear. I would be with my Guardian."

"You aren't going anywhere."

"But with no mind, I won't remember you…" her naïve logic made him stare at her. If he hadn't known how bright the girl was, he'd believe she was purely stupid by the way she phrased that statement.

It was in that moment, that moment when all of fate builds up around a person in a dramatic whole, that the randomness of free will produced an amazing breakthrough. It was in that moment that Kel'Thuzad finally understood the yearning inside him. The emptiness. Because he suddenly saw the same emptiness in her. She was unable to form the emotion she desired to express at the current moment. The result was that her mind picked the closes excuse it could find to that emotion. The closets excuse it could come up with was, "I won't remember you." She meant, "I wouldn't love you anymore." At a complete and entire loss, Kel'Thuzad stared down at the child he had destroyed.

He understood the emptiness. The emptiness overwhelmed him now, confirming his understanding. The shocking numbness, and lack of feeling. He had no excuses because he no longer wanted anything but power. So whenever he wanted to express an emotion, he could call forth no excuse- just emptiness. Pure nostalgia for the emotion he wanted to feel.

Kel'Thuzad stared mutely down at the young girl, watching her lift her arms- shaking from disobedience- and slowly wrap them around his midsection, hugging him. He was silent a long, long moment. The best he could do was, "A pity you are not fit for death paladin… That I cannot keep you from being entirely undead." No heartbeat- no gently thrumming that he had grown so used to… She was so cold… so cold when once she had been so warm..

"Guardian…"

"I am weak now… Go free…" He leant back, looking at her confused expression. "Go free... please… I cannot stop you…"

"But Guardian-!"

"Go FREE!" he forced out. "This existence… You should not bear this! Go FREE!" He looked at her, 'saddened' by giving her up. "For me… Go for me… As I cannot." She stared up at him, eyes wide, motionless. "Go. And do not heed my call after you depart."

"… I love you, Guardian. I will see you free!" She turned, dashing to the door. And then she paused, looking back at him.

"GO!"

"I love you, Guardian," she repeated softly. "Parent," She amended suddenly, and then dashed off.

If only Kel'Thuzad had understood…

He had won. He had beat the Litch King, the Burning Legion, his cursed undead form, and, finally, the darkness with himself. He had one. Now the tiniest portion of him was free…

And she was free.

He didn't understand. He clutched himself the best he could, sick with nostalgia, fullness, emptiness, and so many other conflicting forces. Had he been Human, he might have cried. But he was not. He would never again be Human.

Still, he had won. That, alone, was a victory greater than anyone could have imagined.

Ketala dashed out of the tent, coming up beside Thrash. She didn't give the cat a moment to think, pulling herself up onto its back. Her empathy urged him onward as she gave a gentle nudge to his side with her toes. Eagerly, he obeyed, dashing forward. Ketala's mind gave a pause as another being sensed her departure with ease.

_Eldiaren_ she murmured. _Come Eldiaren, come with me. _The ghoul needed no further urging, dashing up to her side and bounding alongside the cat. The three escapees sprinted away, rushing away from the undead camp as fast as their feet could carry them.

Ketala sat beneath a willow tree during the light rain. Eldiaren was using her mental instructions to build a small fire as she scratched out on a piece of bark the symbol she had seen on the dying elf's tabard- the symbol of the Silver Hand. It was the only link she had now to the rest of the world. She would have to seek out this Silver Hand, or at least set that as her goal until she came across a more reasonable course of action. She had no other way to go. Gently, Ketala reached over, scratching the sleeping Thrash behind his ears. Then she set the piece of bark down and sighed, looking over at Eldiaren. The fire was ablaze, its gentle warmth washing over the two undead and the massive cat.

_Come, Eldiaren_. She murmured. He obeyed, crawling up to her and curling up against her as she smiled, laying a hand on his deformed, domed forehead and stroking his decaying hair gently. _Thank you, Eldiaren. We will rest here until Thrash is rejuvenated._ The ghoul clicked his teeth together and nuzzled against her. Ketala's smile broadened as she tousled his hair gently. _Thrash… Eldiaren… you are my best friends… my only friends in the world… I love you both._ She gently touched her lips to the decayed flesh of the ghoul's forehead and then closed her eyes, listening to the raindrops around her, and to Thrash's gentle breathing.

The Litch King was not one to so easily give up his prize. Ketala stirred, looking around. She smelled more undead… she smelled mortals… blood and death… "Thhrasssh," she grunted out, shaking the cat. Instantaneously, the mount was up, sniffing the air as well. He growled, looking over at her as she and Eldiaren stood. "Batttlle… We can ssstop Arthass (Pun not quite intended) from following usss… And maybe there will be humanssss to point out which way we ssshhould go…" Thrash gave a grunt of approval and Ketala pulled herself up onto the massive cat's shoulders, sending him forward with a gentle tap to the ribs. The cat stretched and then jumped into a run, speeding off, with the ghoul following close behind.

It did not take them long to find battle. Huge abominations plowed through the lines of simple warriors. They were a 'small scouting' detachment, designed to locate her and destroy her. Either that, or Arthas was severely irritated with this particular group of humans. There were a few elves, mostly arcane priests, and there were two spell breakers, one of which had just been thrown to the ground, his blade hurled too far away for him to retrieve it. A cleaver hacked down at him… and none of his comrades could help him. There was a shriek-like roar as a massive black creature pounced on the abomination's back, ripping open its rotten, dead flesh. A figure with two glowing blades, one with light and the other with flame, stood between him and the abomination. She whirled, as graceful as any demonhunter or orc blademaster, plunging the scimitars through the abomination. She severed stitches, sending half of its innards flooding out one side. Another slash removed one of its arms. The cat jumped from its head as the abomination began to crumble. With a final sweep of the blade of light, the figure sliced off the monsters head and charred it so that it would not rise again.

The Spell Breaker stared up at her in pain, confusion, and awe. His mind was reeling with the raw arcane power he felt flooding from her. Elemental energies streamed out of her and her blades, and he shuddered violently, watching her turn around and look at him. Her hair was limp and straight, her eyes a mixture of whirling colors. And her skin was the pale white color of a corpse.

"Light help us," he gasped out, staring up at her, unable to move in his awe. She tilted her head to the side and then crouched lightly, looking around. Her eyes blazed white and red and she screamed, charging forward, her blades cleaving into her next opponent, rending that abomination to shredded bits from behind. She struck again and again and again, at any undead flesh before her, and then halted at a massive green abomination before her. Her mind was too far gone to recognize that she could 'control' this being with her aura. All her mind radiated was the lust to kill, to destroy this evil and save that elf… And then her eyes widened. There, in the creature's decayed, meaty fist, was the limp body of a ghoul.

"ELDIAREN!" He lifted his head, looking at her weakly. In her rage, she had not felt his pain or his need, and she watched helplessly as the abomination took the ghoul's head between two fingers and popped it off like the flower of a dandelion. She was hit by a wave of such overwhelming pain, such overwhelming loss, that she screamed, brutally charging at the Abomination.

"MAGNA!" she cried out in anguish, feeling the scimitars flood with her power, blazing even more intensely. They rended through the abomination's unholy flesh as the monstrous beast went up in white and red flames, bellowing loudly before crumbling into a heap of innards and ash. Its head moved to look at her, just in time to see a spell breaker slice one of his massive tri-blades at her head. Then the abomination died.

And to the Litch King's knowledge, his new weapon was dead.

What the Litch King did not see was a second spell breaker block the blow. Both blood elves looked at each other in some confusion, and then watched the oblivious undead stumble over to the ghoul's body and collapse to her knees. She quivered, shifting through the mass of abomination flesh until she found Eldiaren's head. Like the body, it was twitching lightly. It quivered lightly and one of its hands reached out, gently touching her face.

"Ketttt," it hissed out, before undeath left it, and it became just another corpse. Ketala looked down at the broken creature that had once been her pride and joy, and she shuddered, dropping the head.

"… Eldiaren…" she murmured brokenly. "Natura…" she said slowly, and her blades returned to normal, slowly finding their sheaths at her sides. After a moment, she turned her head, looking up as Thrash came up to her. She smiled weakly and stood, putting her arms around the cat's neck and hugging it. She sighed and then pulled back, looking at the two confused spell breakers. She was silent a long, long moment, and then, very quietly, said, "Hello…" Both just stared at her like she was a three-headed rabbit, a gnome who'd bridged 3 feet in height, or a toothbrush; for she was defiantly something out of the ordinary.

Ketala stared back a moment and then released the cat, coming up toward them. One of the elves backed up, but the other, the one she had saved, staid there, looking at her curiously. She made a weak attempt at a smile, trying to make sure she didn't look _too_ grotesque.

"My name…" she said after a moment, "is Ketala Fiheriae…" The elf docked his head to the side.

"You speak Common?" She nodded, smiling lightly.

"Not perfectly… but yess… Who are you?" The SpellBreaker looked at her uncertainly a moment.

"Therian Firewalker."

"It isss… niccce to meet you," she said softly. She looked to the side, watching her feline mount come up beside her. "Thisss iss Thrasssh. He is my warmount." The Spell Breaker blinked.

"Your mount? Where are you from?" She hesitated a moment, pondering his question.

"Good quessstion. I have had Thrassssh for many years. Asss far back asss I can remember… Sssinccce I was a toddler."

"How old are you now?" he asked slowly, his brows moving together in confusion.

"Sssixxx mortal yearsss," She murmured softly, and he stared at her. "I wasss raisssed by undead… Then they made me undead… Now I am free…Eldiaren wasss almossst free… Now he isss dead." She looked slowly at the ground, uncertain of what else to say.

"What are you that you can develop so quickly?" he asked slowly.

"The litch who raisssed me… Told me that I wasss… half elemental…" Therian swallowed, nodding to himself. That would explain her overwhelming arcane energy when she was wielding her scimitars… and her whirling eyes.

"That ghoul… you called him Eldiaren? Was he an elf… in life…?"

"Half elf," She murmured sadly. "From what I could gather from his dead mind. I was trying to make him free like me."

"And why are you free?"

"Destroying my mind would have made me lessss powerful… lessss effective." She said, lifting her eyes and looking at him. "So I am free… from the litch king'sss control… I ran…"

"Don't believe her!" snapped a priest, coming up beside them. "She's an undead! Look at her- this could just be a trick by Arthas!" Ketala lowered her head, looking silently at the ground.

"I don't know, Errithe," Therian said slowly. "She saved my life. She just killed all these abominations- we'd be dead without her!"

"SHE IS UNDEAD! How can you even think of trusting it- look at what it is! Our enemy! It even admitted to being raised by a litch!"

"Please-" Ketala interrupted. Both of them blinked, looking straight at her. "Please, I'm just trying to get away… I have no clue as to where to go. I came to this battle because I knew there would be living people here… people who might be able to tell me what I should do…" she said, rather weakly. Both elves looked at each other and then back at her.

"What do you want…?" Therian asked gently. She hesitated a moment and then slowly pulled the peeled piece of smooth bark from her cloak.

"I don't know. All I know about the world, I learned from undead preaching about the glory of the Litch King… and from a dying elf. He wore this sssymbol." She offered the bark forward, showing the unmistakable symbol. The priest saw it and his eyes narrowed, by the Spell Breaker's eyes widened and he looked at her.

"Do you know what that symbol is of?" Ketala shrugged lightly.

"He told me it was an order of Paladinsss and Priessstsss. The litch spoke out against sssuch beingsss as our enemiesss. I thought if I sssought to abandon the Ssscourge, perhapsss this would be a way to ssstart…" She looked down at the symbol and Therian smiled sadly at her. The poor naïve creature… Yes, the Silver Hand was most certainly against demon and Scourge alike… but they would slay her before ever taking a second look at her. "I don't know where to go or what to do… only that I need to get away from the Ssscourge…Pleassse, can you help me?" She looked pitifully up at him, her whirling eyes turning a pastel bluish color. Therian looked at her a long moment, thoughtful. Bitter recollections crossed his mind of the Scourge destruction of Quel'thalas.

"… I… owe you for saving my life…" he said after a long moment. Errithe looked at him alarmed.

"You're not seriously considering letting this monster live- are you!"

"Quiet, Errithe! She saved your life too!" He glared the priest silent for a moment and then looked back at Ketala.

"Our party is traveling to a small village near Stormwind. Would you come with us?" Ketala grinned. Somehow, she had escaped decay. The only thing distressing about her smile is that her lips were chapped and dry, and bled ever so lightly. He did not wince, lifting a hand and offering it to her to shake. Ketala blinked, looking from him to his hand. He eyed her a moment, and then supplied, "It's a handshake, a symbol of friendship, or acknowledgement." Ketala eyed him a long moment and then lifted a gloved hand, taking his. Even her armor was cold, and it made his hair stand on end, but her smile was warm and filled with life.

"Thank you. I will not disssappoint you, I promissse."

* * *

Illidan, Zul'vii

Kaelthalas watched the two powerful beings in some measure of awe. The cold winter had forced them to move south once again, and Illidan and Zul'vii walked side by side. They traded insults and occasionally fingered their weapons. Both were tense, and quite aware that if tensions escalated any more, they were probably both going to die. Both kept their tempers under control, and both were inseparable from one another. They were an omnipresent pair, neither one leaving the other for longer then a minute. They always returned together, almost subconsciously, and continued bickering. And oh they seemed to loathe one another. Zul'vii would often just be sarcastic or mean, and Illidan would outright threaten to kill her, every fibre in his being quivering with hatred and rage.

His feet and hands free from bandages at last, Illidan was back to a semblance of his former glory, his hooves leaving smoking tracks in the snow behind him. But he retained the enchanted robe, and the thick bandages across his chest.

And then a strange phenomenon would happen, right in the middle of the walk. Illidan would shudder, touching the void in his chest. Immediately, everyone would stop, and Zul'vii would gently flood healing Life into him until he relaxed. Then they would start walking again, and refrain from bickering for around a half an hour. It was an awkward thing, both of them so obviously hating one another, and yet both backing off as soon as Illidan needed any type of help. Zul'vii would heal him immediately, with no qualms or side comments, and Illidan would refrain from provoking her again until around a half hour to forty five minutes later. Even at night, the two did not disperse for long. Most of the time, she managed to convince Illidan to rest, and she would sleep quietly with her head resting on her arms beside him, present in case he had any need of her healing aid. If she did not succeed in persuading him to go to bed, he would meditate, and she would still remain at his side- never complaining.

Vashj analyzed the relationship best. They only tolerated each other when they had something besides how much they hated each other to think about. As soon as they were confronted with a problem, they immediately turned their attention to it. As soon as they were bored, they went back to hating one another.

It was not any type of love or begrudging comradeship like the bond between Myev and Zul'jin had been. This was pure loathing when Illidan was well, and pure, silent, unemotional friendship whenever there was a problem.

Zul'vii sat next to Illidan, watching him meditate. Not that she could tell if he really did meditate or not. It wasn't like he'd open his eyes if he was awake. She observed him silently a long moment, thinking about the walk tomorrow. They'd have to move for fourteen hours straight… but they would finally reach their destination. She crossed her arms, looking down at the floor, still and quiet. Then, slowly, she looked back up at Illidan, and lifting her hands, slowly touching the back of the bandana he wore around his eyes. He didn't even stir, too deep into his own mind. Gently, she untied the bandana, and pulled it down from his ruined eyes. Both had been burned shut, and there was no evidence to whether or not the eyes behind them had been gouged out or not. She was a healer at heart. The scars Illidan bore were not only from Frostmourne's blade. Most of them weren't even external. But any kind of pain or wounding made her pity, and she lifted a hand, gently stroking over the wounded tissue of his right eye. Immediately, one of his hands shot to her wrist, pulling her hand away.

Illidan looked straight at her, blind only to color and shape. His upper lip curled in disgust and contempt. He did not want her pity. "I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I've never seen a demonhunter before. I was wondering, do you gouge your eyes out or only burn them shut?" He looked at her dangerously a moment and then let go of her hand.

"We only burn them shut," he said icily. She nodded, lowering her hand and offering him his bandana. He snorted and took it, binding it again around his eyes. The movement caused the muscles and wounded tissue in his chest to stretch and he winced. Zul'vii immediately lifted a hand to the wound, soothing his pain, and he sighed softly, looking over at her.

"Why do you hate me so much?" she asked softly, gently peeling back some of the bandage to get directly at the wound. He tilted his head to the side, clawed fingers tapping lightly on the ground.

"Don't pity me," he said after a moment.

"That's not the only reason, is it? You _enjoyed_ killing me back in that forest. Not satisfaction- you _enjoyed_ it. Like I was just another demon in your way." He said nothing, watching her as she tended to the wound. Then, something occurred to him. He lifted a hand feeling only air. His hand moved to his hairline and he felt two stubs.

"My horns…"

"Oh yes, sorry. They were both frostbitten, so cutting them off didn't cause any blood loss. You lost them back when we rescued you from IceCrown." He looked at her dangerously. "They were very cumbersome and giving you severe migraines, so don't look at me like that. Besides, I can always help you regenerate them when you're fully recovered from this," She touched the wound in his chest, causing him to hiss out his pain. Then she grinned. "Plus it's not like you needed them. Didn't your head ever get heavy?" He bristled, hands clenching, but a shot of Life energy pacified him. "You never answered my question."

"I don't know why I hate you," he responded wearily. "I only know that you are the most annoying creature I have ever had the misfortune to come across." She smiled genuinely, and then tilted her head to the side.

"When you don't need my help any more, will you try to kill me again?" He paused, looking directly at her.

"Don't make me want to," he said slowly, darkly, and he looked back at the floor and went back to silent brooding.

"You should sleep again, Illidan. It's a fourteen hour walk tomorrow." He snorted and looked over at the child that was his savior. She regarded him with true concern, and thus he forced his bitter thoughts away. Left with no hatred, he determined that she was right- he needed to sleep. He could never walk for fourteen hours straight without a good rest. He nodded, and she let go of him as he stood up slowly and walked to his tent. He paused in the doorway and looked back at her a moment, silent, watching her get up and follow him. She was a child. Just a child. Not a demon. He forced himself to think that way, his mind numbing, and the drifted to his bed and collapsed, sighing mentally to himself, his thoughts drifting off to his beloved Tyrande.

He woke up in the morning to find his hair brushed out to a silky smoothness it had not held for ten thousand years. He grumbled to himself about women, feeling beaded, elfin style braids in it, along with his customary top knot. Oh, he hated that ruddy girl.

* * *

Varimathras, Kadre, Sylvanis

Varimathras seethed with hatred and jealousy, watching from his perch above the Lordaeron ruins. He was forbidden from leaving the Undercity, but he was at the point of boredom where he would defy any barrier for action. Kadre followed Sylvanis near everywhere, helping her orchestrate defensive plans for the Forsaken's borders, and for the Undercity itself. He gave her advice on upcoming battles, and delivered her reports of recent undead attacks on the humans lands- helping her pinpoint where to attack to gain the maximum benefit against the Scourge.

In essence, he had entirely replaced the dreadlord. Varimathras could be doing any number of things. Sylvanis had given him free reign of the city. He could be in the apothecarium right now, rapidly draining every living being he came into contact with. But no. He was out here, glaring down at his replacement with vile hatred, watching him speak with Sylvanis like an equal- as if such a petty mortal could possibly equal the power of his Dark Lady! A wave of jealousy shot through him, causing him to shudder. Sylvanis had been lax in her treatment of Varimathras- but for how long? She had replaced him with someone she was _sure_ would be loyal to the cause of defeating the Scourge. Soon, Varimathras would be a liability- a needless problem. That could not happen! She would kill him if he had no value to her. But there was more. There was a deep, instinctive, horrid jealousy coupling with his hatred of Kadre. The same jealousy that caused Sylvanis to ruthless bash a Succubus's head to a pulp against a wall. That place at Sylvanis's side, as her chief advisor and majordomo was _his!_ It did not belong to some petty Human! His pride jumped into the fray and increased his anger 10 fold. A _Human! _A _Human_ had replaced _him! _He watched Sylvanis nod to Kadre, sending him back to the Argent Dawn encampment, and then walk off. Seething with pure loathing, Varimathras followed the Human…

And stopped at a small cave not far from the Argent Dawn. Kadre looked around, evidently assuring himself that he was alone. Then he called out a name. Bewildered, Varimathras pushed back his own, furious brooding to listen. Another man came up to Kadre, this one evidently another paladin.

"The plan is working," Kadre said in a soft whisper. "Sylvanis suspects nothing. Once we have finished with the Scourge, her defenses in the rear, toward human lands, will be permeable enough for us to launch a full scale attack on these lands… and finally rid this world of the undead curse!" The demon almost laughed, his power flooding through his veins like wildfire, fueled by his hatred, consuming his mind. More words were exchanged, but he heard nothing, calling down an infernal…

The massive infernal plummeted down, blowing Kadre and the other paladin several feet away. Then the infernal opened up and lumbered at the paladin, slamming him brutally into a tree. Delighted, Varimathras glided down to the ground, watching the infernal weaken and exhaust the two paladins. When he smelled the last bits of mana and strength leak out of the Argent Dawn Leader, Varimathras moved, gripping him around the throat with one arm, and shoving through a soft spot in his armor plan with several claws. Kadre cried out, writhing, and then looked up in horror at Varimathras's face. The dreadlord smiled cruelly, and then bit hard into the Argent Dawn Leader's throat and jaw, ripping into his jugular and sucking the light-tainted blood from within. Oh, perhaps the vile liquid would make him sick later, but it was well worth the satisfaction of hearing the man's death scream, choke, and dying gurgle. When he had drained Kadre dry of blood, he dropped the paladin's limp body and gave a high pitched, reverberating roar. The infernal faded into nothing, and Varimathras smiled, looking over at the other, semi-conscious paladin.

And then the Dreadlord was surprised by a black shaft burrowing into his collar bone. He shrieked, gripping the barbed arrow and brutally ripping it from his shoulder. He was hit by two more, twin banshee rangers rushing at him. Behind them was Sylvanis. Her hand flared, and a thick, energy draining beam sprung from him to her, draining him of life and energy. He bit off his scream, not resisting as the Banshee's roughly jerked him to his knees, binding his arms behind him, and looking up at Sylvanis pleadingly.

The Banshee queen just sighed, tilting her head to the side. "Varimathras… you're disappointing me." He swallowed weakly, feeling the arrow's poison seeping into his veins.

"M-my lady-" he rushed out.

"SILENCE!" she shrieked, her shrill banshee scream echoing lightly. An arrow skimmed across his shoulder, ripping it open, and just missing one of the banshee's that held him. "You are not even in the position to beg! Silence your tongue, demon!" Varimathras shuddered and lowered his head, all lust for vengeance and blood gone, leaving him hollow and helpless. She glared at him a moment more and then turned her gaze back to her two _loyal_ servants. "Bring him back to the Royal Quarter. Now." With identical, 'Yes Dark Lady's, they wrenched Varimathras to his feet and dragged him back to the Undercity.

Sylvanis had teleported to the Undercity ahead of her guards, and the two banshees dragged him before her as she sat on her outer dais, smiling down at him. Varimathras just hung limply, staring down at her feet.

"Release him," she said, amused. The two banshees obeyed, letting go of his arms and he collapsed to a sprawling sitting position. "Leave." They bowed and obeyed, turning and exiting, closing two massive doors behind them. Slowly, Varimathras braced his hands against the ground in front of him, silent, almost looking like he was offering himself to be punished. Still, Sylvanis was silent, faintly radiating amusement. She dropped to the ground after a moment, and came up to him slowly, examining the thick gash she had put earlier in his shoulder with one arrow, and the hole she had made with the other.

"You did not resist my banshee's much, I see," she said slowly, savoring his discomfort.

"Resistance would accomplish nothing… I was in the wrong." Sylvanis laughed darkly, stroking his shoulder like she was soothing a favorite pet. And then she latched her fingers into the wound tissue, yanking downward. He did not give her the satisfaction of hearing him scream, nor did he anger her with silence. He simply groaned, gripping the ground tightly. "Forgive me…" he murmured weakly.

"What? You don't protest?"

"Nothing I can say can soothe you… just anger you worse… Please forgive me… IT is all that I can think to ask…" Her hand moved from the wound, and she stroked gently over his wing arm.

"Poor, poor Varimathras… But you know, I must treat you as I promised. You quarreled with the Argent Dawn… and you left the city… If I don't discipline you, my word means nothing. Besides, I am no liar. I would enjoy your screams.

"Please, my Lady… Forgive me… Spare me from death if not from pain…"

"I need a majordomo." She said, gently caressing his cheek and pointed ear. "Now, Varimathras, what is the story behind this? What made you disobey me?" Varimathras swallowed, quickly throwing out any idea of lying. Sylvanis knew his thoughts. If he lied to her, she would know, and she would be furious. "Initially… my own… jealousy…and hatred… But I found Kadre… plotting against you… That is why I stayed out- to kill him." Sylvanis paused in her gentle caresses.

"Jealousy? Always the best for you, ah? What did I tell you about serving _me_ first and your own pleasure later?"

"He was but a Human- he… he replaced me…"

"A very valuable Human, Varimathras. Keeping him at my side kept the Humans at peace with us long enough to attack the undead. Do you truly think I didn't know he plotted against me? I'm appalled Varimathras- do you really think me that stupid?" His pointed ears and shoulders drooped farther.

"No… my Lady… I was blinded by hatred," he said weakly, lowering his head even further.

"Why do you think I had you work on defense plans for so long? Kadre would give me tips on upgrading out defenses, and I would simply put your plans to work, not his." Varimathras winced. So he hadn't been replaced at all- it had merely been a façade. He was sorely in error… Sylvanis had worked all this out… and he had crumbled it… "Still, you did me one favor. You showed me that he was not the only one of this Argent Dawn detachment that was plotting against me. I now know exactly who to watch out for, and I will be able to keep the Argent Dawn detachment here." He lifted his ice-cold eyes a bit, hopefully. Perhaps… Perhaps Sylvanis was not so angry with him…?

"Tell me, Varimathras," she asked after a moment. "Did you enjoy that succubus's company?" He froze up, and then, weakly, said, 'yes.'

Varimathras was unconscious, and Sylvanis was knelt by his side, slowly stroking his tortured frame.

"Poor, poor Varimathras…" she murmured, the memory of his shrieks of agony in her thoughts. "You made a misjudgment- a very… grave… mistake. But no harm done… save unto you. Be glad for that, or your torment would be far worse." Slowly, her head tilted to the side. One of her hands was wrapped in bandage wrap to disguise the missing finger and ease the pressure between her palm and her bow. The other hand gently traced the black haunty tissue around his eye, and she looked down at him with sympathy. Then, slowly, tenderly, she moved her arms around the demon and pulled him gently against her.

"My poor Varimathras… Never disappoint me. Never disobey me." Then she took some salve and bandage tape, dressing and bandaging the thickest of wounds that had been inflicted on him. When she finished, she looked down at him with some disgust, as if she had used all her reserve of 'nice' to finish the bandaging. Then her hand move again, gently slipping into his and brushing the side of his pointer finger. He twitched lightly, his fingers molding lightly to hers. He gave a small convulsion, and then emitted a weak, pathetic purr. Immediately, Sylvanis leaned to the side, touching her cheek to his chest and felt the purr rumble through him. She was as pathetic as he was in that moment, craving and treasuring that small, tiny signal of real affection. It was the only real comfort she had. Nothing else around her could offer even such a tiny symbol of care. The undead worshiped and followed her with reverence- not love.

The powerful, undead ranger was reduced to a creature as alone as Illidan, as helpless as Kel'Thuzad, and as pathetic as Keever. There was no spirit to save _her._ No guardian angel was there to save _her_ soul. Quite the opposite, really. Her only savior was a demon she longed to destroy, and entirely distrusted. The only thing she had was demon whose soul was even more damned then hers was. But he was loyal out of need. And he could radiate some small amount of like for her presence- as he did with that purr- as he did when he confessed that he'd been jealous of Kadre. Nothing else did that. Half dead at her hands, he purred in pleasure at her presence. She stood and left, returning with more healing potions and more appropriate bandages, and redressed his wounds far more properly.

His screams had pleased her.

For the moment that satisfaction lasted.

And then she was alone.

His purr had pleased her. She opened the window beside his bed, looking up at the night sky. There were stars up there… Stars her undead eyes still remembered from Quel'thalas. Then she cradled the broken demon, and unwrapped her injured hand. The troll's blood potion had regenerated her finger up to the first joint… One more… that's all she needed. It just had to reach the next joint, and even if it stopped healing there she would be able to bend her fingers properly, and she could use a replacement to continue the length of her finger. Just one more joint and she would be able to hold an arrow with that hand again. And if that didn't work, the apothecaries could always amputate a finger from an elfin corpse and try to get it to bond properly with her hand, so she could use it as if it were her own. Thing were not as hopeless as they seemed.

* * *

Mahi Mahi, Tyrande, Keever

Mahi had polymorphed again. She was currently a bear, and was happily chasing around butterflies. Keever just watched her, perplexed, as Tyrande smiled.

"She's a strange one, isn't she?" the priestess remarked. Keever nodded.

"Very strange. She's so peaceful- she is supposed to save the world?"

"Yes," Tyrande said, her mind drifting off to what Mahi represented- all the life in this world… The life and strength of everything… Of the very forest they stood in… Suddenly Mahi paused, staring down at a terrified toad. She tilted her furry head to the side, looking down at it, as it peed on the ground below it. Its heart yammered uncontrollably as Mahi smiled, turning back into her humanoid form and sat down, picking up the toad. Tyrande blinked, turning her attention back to the amphibian. Her eyes narrowed.

"That little wretch… I'm surprised he's survived so far." The toad looked in pure horror at Tyrande, struggling and trying to get free from Mahi. Keever blinked, watching as Mahi turned the toad upside down and started stroking its belly. Slowly, the creature calmed down, till it was practically limp in her palm.

"What is it?" Keever asked first.

"Zenn Foulhoof," Tyrande said bitterly. "He was once a Satyr, attempting to corrupt this last pure forest in our world." Mahi smiled, and set the creature down, gently patting it on the head. Then she got up and came back to Keever.

_We have to go soon, _she said gently to him. He blinked, looking up at her.

"Where?" he asked.

_To conflict._ He swallowed.

"When do we have to go?"

_Just soon… Just soon…Talk to Tyrande. _Keever nodded slowly Then he turned back to Tyrande. The Moon Priestess looked at him a moment and then smiled gently.

"Good luck, Keever." He nodded numbly.

"Is there anything else I should know?" he inquired weakly.

"… There are two other celestial beings on Azeroth now. One of them is called Curiato. It's a reference to healing. The other is called Trua, and its name is a reference to compassion."

"What does Mahi mean?"

"Strength." Keever nodded and then tilted his head to the side.

"Why did you look sad when Keever mentioned Malfurion?" Tyrande made a face, and considered not answering. Then, with deliberation, she said the truth.

"Malfurion is lost in the sleep of the Emerald Dream, the realm of the Green Dragon. No one can find him. But the Mahi tells me there is hope… And I believe her…"

"Maybe he is doing something very, very important. If that's so, he'll come back to you as soon as it's done." Keever said slowly, sorting through what he knew of emotions and making a weak attempt at trying to consol the elf. It worked, and she smiled, patting him on the head.

"As I said, Undead, good luck. Know that most of the time, Mahi and yourself will be invisible, and soundless. You can ask her anything you want, and no one else will see or hear." He nodded and then backed up next to Mahi. Mahi smiled, first down at him and then at Tyrande. Then she wrapped her arms tightly around the undead and both he and she faded into the very world around them.

Tyrande stood there, silent, contemplating the fate of the world. At least she could be assured that Mahi would put up a hell of a fight.

* * *

Jaina, Thrall, Unicorn

Jaina's jaw dropped as she saw what was before her. Immediately, she turned her head. "Warchief! Come here!"

The Humans and Orcs had formed a small hunting band. There had been a severe concentration of demonic energy within Dustwallow Marsh, and both races had immediately rushed to see its demise. Due to treaties, and the fact that both leaders had somehow managed to come (Something both leaders had arranged beforehand), no fighting occurred between the two different groups. Instead, the ban had begrudgingly joined together, and was currently hunting down the last of the demons.

Thrall's soft footsteps- amazingly soft due to his shamanistic roots, as his armor was very heavy- sounded beside her and the Warchief came up at her side. What he saw caused his blue eyes to widen. He watched Jaina slowly creep forward and kneel down next to the thing, touching its throat.

"It's alive," She said with a note of relief.

"What… _is_ it…?" Thrall asked, awe in his voice, coming out beside her. The animal was beautiful. Pure white in color, it was equine, with a long, twisting horn protruding from the center of its forehead. It was badly bruised and looked dehydrated, but it wasn't bleeding, and judging by its sides moving with every breath, it was alive.

"I think it's a unicorn." The orc blinked, looking at her as she gently lifted up its head, examining it and its horn.

"I have… heard that term before…"

"They are supposed to be defenders of nature… This one's so small… I wonder if it's just a baby…?" Indeed, the animal was just barely 4 feet long. Thrall blinked, tilting his head to the side.

"The demons must have been keeping it for a sacrifice. Perhaps I heard of them from Cairne." Jaina nodded to herself, looking up at him.

"We need to get it to safety... I can try to teleport it to Mulgore." Thrall frowned.

"You've scantly been to Mulgore. Are you sure you can get there?" Jaina hesitated.

"Well what else can we do?" she asked, worried for the creature. Thrall sighed and then pulled out some parchment.

"Do you have a quill and some ink?" Jaina blinked and then fished around in her backpack before producing the necessary items. Thrall took them and scrawled down something on the paper. Then he handed it to her. "Teleport to my keep. Vol'jin will be there- give this to him. He will see you have speedy passage to Thunderbluff from there. You should be able to see exactly where Thunderbluff is. Then Vol'jin will lead you to Cairne. Explain the situation, teleport back here, and then teleport the Unicorn to Cairne's tent. You remember all that?" Jaina nodded, smiling, and taking the scroll.

"You owe me a cookie for all this teleporting," She said with a grin, backing up and chanting her spell to aid in the casting of it. With a flash of ruins, she vanished. Thrall watched her go and then knelt down next to the unicorn, reaching up and stroking it neck.

"Poor beast… It's alright. We'll help you." It made a low whinny of pain, twitching, and then relaxed under the Shaman's gentle strokes. He looked at the pitiful creature and then slowly unclasped his cloak, lifting the equine animal up and setting it down on the cloak, making it a splice between a blanket and a stretcher. He then called his wolf over to lie down beside it, which it did surprisingly without complaint or bark. The Warchief looked around a moment and then stood up, going to find the secondary leader of the orc side of the hunting party. After giving explicit and detailed instructions (And explicit and detailed threats about punishments for attacking the humans), Thrall returned to the animal and sat beside it, just petting its neck comfortingly.


	8. Redemption Salvation

My thanks to Sheitan for comming back and reading this through! Your comment made me sit down and write this whole ruddy chapter :P

Thanks to everyone else who is enduring my massivly wordliness! Read and Review!

* * *

_**Redemption... Salvation...**_

* * *

Ketala, Therian, War-Party Leader, Paladin

Ketala rode silently atop the massive feline, looking down at the ground. Since she had joined the small war-band, she had not spoken much, docilely walking her feline at Therian's side. The leader of the war-band was a human warrior. He'd turned his white and gray dappled stallion mount into a pack horse, helping to carry the packs of those who were wounded. He spoke neither a word opposed to the female undead woman, nor a word on her behalf, deeming it simply necessary to bring her to a figure with authority in order to determine what to do with her.

Her spell breaker companion remained near her, keeping an eye on her both to protect her and to make sure she did no ill to his party. After a moment, she lifted her head, looking over in his direction. He blinked and offered her a gentle smile, parting his lips as if to start a conversation.

"Damn pigeon- Come down here!" Both looked up, watching a messenger pigeon, eluding its master, sitting up at the tree as the bird trainer desperately tried to lure it down.

"What iss that?" Ketala asked curiously.

"A messenger pigeon- it carries messages from us to Stormwind.

"It'ss not coming down, though…"

"No… Which means we might not get to find out whether to bring you to Stormwind or not…" Ketala blinked, looking at him.

"I will get it, if you dessire," she offered.

"I'm afraid it would run away faster from an undead than from a hu-… man?" The war party turned to stare, as the pigeon flitted up to Ketala, landing on her shoulder. She smiled, kissing the dove gently on the top of its soft white head, gently taking the small rolled up message from its leg. Without unrolling it to look at it, she leaned down, offering the slip of paper to the spell breaker. He blinked, staring at her, and then looking down at the slip, unfolding it with his fingers.

"A paladin group is nearby. We are to stop here and wait for them." There were answering complaints from the men, all desiring to get out of the hostile wilderness and back to their families. Or their ale.

Ketala blinked, picking up on the weariness surrounding the soldier's consciousnesses. "They want to go home…" she said slowly.

"Yes. They're hurt and tired of war." Ketala looked at him, nodding slowly.

"Yess… They are not like undead…" she said softly to herself. Therian winced, hearing her soft comment, as the rest of the war-party started setting up tents, the drained priests providing what healing they could. Then the spell breaker looked fully at her, watching her gently pet the pigeon.

"… Why did the bird come to you, of all people?" he asked, curious but kind.

"I don't know, really," she said in a slightly dreamy voice. "Thingss jusst like me… Like Eldiaren… A Monsster gainss a mind… and recognizess me… as a friend… Things just like me…" The High-Elf lifted a brow, eyeing her. After a moment she looked back at him, seeing his disbelieving eyes. "Well… Eldiaren liked me…"

"But he was an undead ghoul."

"This pigeon likes me… And sso doess Thrash here…" She rubbed the massive feline's shoulder and it purred. The elf blinked, looking at the cat. Yes, for some reason, both the bird and the cat liked her a lot… The undead was silent a long moment and then slipped off her cat's back. "Paladins… doess that mean thosse who follow the ssilver hand?"

"Yes," the spellbinder said slowly, and then added, "but you have to understand… You're the kind of thing they fight against… An undead… They won't trust you." Ketala looked at him silently, her eyes whirling a pastel pink.

"… Will they try to kill me?" The blood elf went silent. He was hardened by war… by the loss of his family, people, and homeland… But he had never felt such a loss of words before. She was right. Everything that was willing to listen _did_ like her. After a moment, he nodded.

"Probably." She nodded to herself and then blinked, looking around. Her eyes narrowed lightly and she looked at Thrash.

_Thrash, do you smell anything? Anything dead?_

_Undead Elf magic,_ her pet responded.

_Scourge?_

_No, I smell hatred…_

"Therian. There are wild banshees nearby. Not the Scourge." The blood elf stiffened, pulling out his blade and hefting his shield.

"Where?"

"… Six of them." Her eyes turned and she focused on the camp. The pupils contracted to dots, eyes whirling yellow and red as she watched one man lift a rifle, aiming it at the party leader… She pushed past Therian, sprinting forward with a speed one might not have envisioned coming from such a quite and reserved creature. "Pyro et lux sacer!" Blazing flame poured out of her blades, tipped with slight purple, as she whipped her blade into the back of the man. Everyone turned to her, staring in horror… But it was not because of her actions that they stared. It was because the man had screamed- or, to be precise, the banshee inside him had screamed, a horrible rending sound, as the elemental blades purged her, throwing her out of his body and frying her to a blackened pile of uninteresting dust. The man crumpled, possibly alive, possibly not. The first one to get it was the leader of the party.

"BANSHEES!" He yanked out his sword as screams echoed around them, the five remaining banshees pouring in and firing curses and such, trying to last as long as possible before being forced to possess their enemies to keep from being killed.

They never stood a chance. Ketala was zoned out again, relying on her elemental instinct. She charged forward with stunning speed and hacking all undead she came into contact with asunder. The elemental instinct recognized: Allies living; Enemies banshees; Attack banshees. When they were all smoldering heaps on the ground, Ketala stood still, quiet and letting her pupils dilate to proper size once again. Immediately she saw Therian crumpled on the ground next to her, a small blade wound in his back. He'd been possessed. Her eyes widened and she knelt beside him, gently feeling his face. Slightly warm. That was good news- when a banshee possessed something, it lost all warmth. This meant he was still alive. Ketala frowned, putting her hand over the wound in his back to keep the blood in. He almost died. Like Eldiaren… When she zoned out, she forgot all about _protecting._ As an elemental, she was a force of offense and independence. She forgot to assist her allies in anything but simple combat. She forgot to feel for them.

This would need to be corrected. Eldiaren had died because of it, and Therian had gotten possessed. Ketala eyed Therian a moment, not sure what to do for him. Then she gently picked him up. Carefully, she brought him to where Thrash was standing, a few new scars on his shoulders. Gently, she laid Therian down and had Thrash curl up next to him for warmth. She examined the elf for a moment, trying to think if there was anything else she could do. After a few seconds, she retrieved his blade and shield, sitting them down next to him, and gently removed his helmet, setting it down as well. After that, she started pulling off the full plate armor around his torso and turned him onto his side, examining the wound. It was small and partially cauterized by the fire of her blade. Gently she touched a scimitar to the wound, burning it closed. He groaned lightly, stirring weakly, and his white eyes opened. He blinked, looking at her hazily.

"What…?"

"You were possessed." His eyes opened wide and she laughed lightly. "It's alright. You're not possessed anymore. You should be okay." Therian shuddered, looking down at himself and gently touching the burnt wound in his side. He hissed lightly.

"… Guess it's better then dying of disease…" he murmured, slowly relaxing against the ground and looking distrustfully at the massive cat. Thrash merely purred, laying his head down and watching his master with yellow eyes. "What… happened to you? You didn't seem to hear me when I spoke…" Ketala tilted her head to the side, looking up at the sky and thinking. After a moment, she looked back at Therian.

"I don't know. Sometimes I lose myself to battle. I become more… effective…" Her eyes whirled a depressing green blue. "But I just fight. I stop assisting. That's why Eldiaren died… Because I never heard his pleas for help. I don't hear anything. I don't see anything. I don't _know_ anything. I target my enemy, and my enemy falls." The blood elf swallowed, squirming lightly. "I'm sorry. Does this line of conversation upset you?"

"No… but…" he searched for the words to express what he wanted.

"But I seem more like an undead. Mindless," she said softly, looking down at him. He winced and nodded, rubbing a bruise on his forearm. "I'm sorry. I do not mean to make that impression. I will try to keep a hold on myself in battle. I have never tried to repress it before- so I might be able to." He smiled lightly.

"Thank you for your concern."

"… Eldiaren died. No one else should. Until the battle was over, I had no idea you had been possessed or that I'd purged the banshee in you. If I don't zone out, I might be able to help my allies." He nodded, slowly propping himself up and wincing. "… Can you teach me to bandage wounds?" she asked after a moment of watching him. He blinked, looking at her.

"Why?"

"Another way to stop anyone else from dying." He looked at her a moment and then nodded.

"Alright. But I'm a bit too weak at the moment. How about when I can move a bit more?" She smiled, nodding. And then frowned.

"If the Paladins haven't arrived yet." He smiled gently.

"Well, you just killed six banshees and reversed several possessions- a feat that usually takes a good multitude of high level priests. I say you've got some nice things going for you." She nodded, standing slowly and fingering the hilts of her scimitars. He blinked rapidly, feeling arcane energy starting to flood through her. "Are you worried?"

"I feel no fear… None at all… I feel anger…" He blinked, staring at her. Her hands clenched tightly. "Arthas is going to die," she said simply, and looked down at Therian. "I can't die now. Because I will be there when he finally dies. If the paladins want me dead… I will fight… I will run and I will fight for freedom. I did not leave the Lich King to be butchered by simple, angry, 'holy' men." Therian watched her a moment and then nodded.

"… Was Eldiaren the elf you learned about the Silver Hand symbol from?" Ketala blinked and looked at Therian, shaking her head.

"No, no. Eldiaren is very old. He has been dead a long time, decaying in the ground. The elf I found, I killed as quickly as I could… Then I carved him up into scraps of mush so that the apothecaries could not use any of him in their undead experiments… and the necromancers could not raise him from the dead." The Blood Elf stared at her, surprised by her bluntness when she was ordinarily so kind. The pigeon from earlier was still on her shoulder, surprisingly unharmed, and not even splattered with blood. "I did it to free him from being bound to his undead body, helpless and mindless as he was forced to slaughter comrades, children, and family." The Blood Elf looked at the ground and then at the wound in his side. He would have been forced to do the same thing… he would have been forced to murder… if the banshee had possessed him. He was truly glad that Ketala had come around. He'd be dead twice over otherwise… Perhaps fate had orchestrated this. Ketala blinked, whirling around as steps approached her. The leader of the war-band was there, and he smiled gently, spreading his empty hands in a show of peaceful intentions. She blinked and then lowered her blades, standing up straight.

"I must say, we are very much in your debt," he said simply. "My name is Locke. Know that I will help the Paladins accept you. I owe you my life twice over. You have my thanks." Her eyes changed from bluish, greenish brown to a vibrant light blue, orange, and yellow whirl. Vaguely, this resembled a sunrise.

"Thank you…" she murmured softly, and he nodded, turning around and walking off. Ketala turned, looking back at Therian, and opening her mouth to say something. Before she could do so, there was a large whinny, and several horses charged into the camp, some rearing as they came to a halt. They were dressed in plate and mail, some of them wearing a helmet, more armor, and carrying swords. Others carried war hammers and holy books. These ones specialized in divine magic attacks instead of intensifying their melee skill. Locke was immediately at the side of the lead paladin, welcoming him. Ketala's eyes narrowed, pupils contracting somewhat, and she slipped herself behind Thrash, putting the massive cat between her and the paladin, and leaning against the feline, stroking its side. The paladin spoke a few words of greeting and the two men exchanged brief reports… Locke not including anything about the undead female, or the two battles. The paladin frowned at this and dismounted his horse, pulling off his helmet. He had dark chocolate colored hair and war-burdened eyes, and could not be yet thirty.

"We were told to come here to investigate a message sent by you- concerning an abomination that you had discovered in your wandering."

"Abomination?" Locke said, blinking. "Oh, you must mean Ketala. I believe I included her name in my letter, but I guess Stormwind did not relay it to you." The paladin frowned even more. "And she leans more toward entirely intact ghoul then abomination." The frown turned to an expression of annoyance.

"I meant the literal interpretation- a beast of foul origins, a plague and a monster."

"So did I. Ketala Fiheriae is no abomination, Othen." The paladin's eyes narrowed.

"What are you saying Locke… It… or she… is an undead, is she not!"

"She saved our entire war band twice… I believe that disqualifies her for the title of 'abomination'."

"She is undead, no?"

"Yes, she is an undead, but-"

"Then she is nothing more then a demonic spawn of the Lich King!" Therian winced from where he was sitting against Thrash.

"This from someone who has never spoken to the girl…" Othen blinked and glared at Locke.

"You act as if she were Human! Locke, I do believe this monster has bewitched you!" Locke lifted a brow.

"Of course you do, it's your nature to think such things, Othen. But the point is, she _did _save our war-party. I do believe that requires reward, not punishment.

"One good deed cannot redeem a life of evil!"

"What can?" Piped up a bizarre splice of ethereal and physical sound. The paladin's eyes shot to the female. She was kneeling next to the head of a massive cat, rubbing it behind the ears and causing it to begin purring thunderously. His eyes narrowed, his divine aura blazing in recognition of an undead- an unholy monster.

"… Is this the female you spoke of?" he asked Locke darkly.

"It is." Othen's eyes flamed and he drew his blade. Locke stiffened.

"Paladin!" he demanded. Othen blinked, looking at him quickly. "I have already told you, paladin, that girl is not your enemy. She saved our party twice- I doubt she is about to harm it now!"

"If she did, then it was only to sneak into Stormwind! Be reasonable Locke- she is an undead!"

"Did you come here to examine her to see her true intent, or to simply slaughter?" Othen blinked, pausing. "Ketala, come here," he said, turning and looking at the female. She blinked, her eyes turning to a brown color. Then she stood, slowly walking up toward them and stopping a few yards away, every Paladin eye on her. Her scimitars found their sheathes and she looked silently at the ground. Othen tensed visibly, hatred written on his face. From then on, she was silent, staring at the ground as Othen and Locke warred over her fate.

"She's undead Locke! The bottom line is that she is undead!"

"An undead who has saved my men twice! Is that not called 'Redemption'!" Fighting. Fighting. Fighting. She zoned out, her eyes closing, and she shut them out. Close your eyes. So you do not have to see. When she opened them, Othen was fuming up to her.

"What is your name again?" he asked, controlling his rage.

"…Ket."

"How old are you, Ket?"

"… Six." He blinked, looking at her in surprise.

"Six?" She nodded. "You're just a child then- why do you look full-grown?"

"I am half elemental- or so my creator told me- and I aged extremely fasst. I am not very mature… and I am… what is word… naïve… But I am… independent of the main Scourge control. They made the mistake of leaving my will intact so I would be more… eh… effective." He made a disgusted face, as if she were attempting to worm her way into his trust.

"That… feline… it is yours?"

"Yes. His name is Thrash. I found him as a youth and my… undead benefactor let me keep him."

"You hesitate each time you mention the lich that created you- yes, I believe that's the only thing that could make you, a lich."

"Because I know now that he is the enemy of all that live…"

"Then why the hesitation?"

"I loved him, I think, and in a warped way he cared for me. He raised me for four years- my whole conscious life- and thus is the only thing I can identify as a 'parent.' But he causes so much pain to my new people, I am no longer sure what to think of him." Othen was silent, analyzing this.

"He let you escape? Or set you loose?"

"I am not sure…" she said slowly, her eyes whirling as she thought. "But now that you mention it, it does seem like something he would do. I will avoid Stormwind then- it would be too risky until I can be sure I am not controlled by the undead." He sneered lightly.

"What damage could _you_ do to _our _order?"

"I might ask you that. If I couldn't do any harm, why would you be after me?" He paused, frowning.

"Then what is your resolution to do, at the moment?"

"I don't know. I run from the undead. I know very little about the human world- I seek only an escape from the Lich King. I will go anywhere he is not, so long as I am safe from him. Then I will try and figure this all out."

"And what will you do then?"

"Find my creator and free him- by death or by salvation."

"And then?"

"Kill Arthas." He stared down at her silently a moment.

"You are a death paladin?"

"To be a death paladin was my purpose, not vocation."

"Yet you like to fight?" She paused, pondering over this.

"I can't tell. I haven't fought much. I haven't been dead very long.

"Why is Thrasher still alive?"

"He has not reached maturity. My creator told me he'd kill Thrash when he came of age." Her eyes whirled orange, hands clenching. "Like he killed me." Othen stared down at her suspiciously.

"You are still an undead…"

"True, but I can still smile without malice." She looked directly into the paladin's eyes.

"… You are skilled in duel-wielding scimitars?"

"Yes."

"Did you destroy these banshees?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't they possess you?"

"I do not know. I am not quite mortal… and I'm far to intelligent for the likes of _them._"

"They're blackened- like what happens when they're hit by flame or light." Ketala's pale lips moved into a genuine smile.

"Yess," she murmured, unsheathing her scimitars part way. Othen backed up a step, gripping his sword tighter. "Pyro et lux sacer." White and red flames spiraled down the blades, causing the paladin to stare. "Elemental scimitars. They only work when I feed them with arcane energy. Again she murmured another word, and they returned to normal, and she pushed the blades back in their sheathes. "Is this the end of the examination?" Othen eyed her snorting.

"You are still _undead._" Ketala eyed him a long moment and then came directly up to him. Holy energy blazed around his blade and she reached down, touching it, and lifting her hand to him for examination.

No holy burns. He stared at her uninjured fingers, lips parting.

"See? Help me… please. I don't mean any harm… I just want to get away from them so I can figure out what's going on…" He looked at her mutely, eyes blank. He cleared his throat, searching for any escape from this creature's strangely whirling eyes and her toppling of all he knew of undead. His eyes focused on Therian, who was sitting near the feline, wincing as he examined a wound in his back. He looked dizzy… almost as if… almost as if…

"Were you possessed, elf?" Therian looked up at them and grinned lightly.

"How'd you guess?" Othen's eyes widened.

"What… All these priests were drained… how were you purged of the undead's vile spirit!"

"You'll have to ask Ketala that, she did it." Othen's jaw dropped an inch and he really did stare at Ketala this time, watching her lower her head and look at the ground. He looked back at her hands. _No burns…_That had to be a sign! No natural undead could touch light energy! And she had purged someone of a banshee!

* * *

Zul'vii, Illidan

Zul'vii smiled, looking down at the water before them. Off to the side, nestled under of clump of trees, was a small village. There were more than enough huts to accommodate the traveling party. There were already people here, three shaggy tauran, a few Night Elves, and a small group of goblins. Surrounding the village on two sides was water. Across this water rose three prominent docks. There were three large vessels, a few medium sized fishing ships, A battleship, a whaling ship, and a large assortment of canoes. Sitting above all three docks was a small platform seating a medium sized zeppelin. Apparently, this village prided itself on having a ship for every occasion. As the travelers approached, they were noticed and waved to by the small group of inhabitants, most of who were just bringing in a haul of fish from a day of working. Like always, the traveling group seemed to have huts and tents set up that they were accustomed to living in. the Blood Elves and Nagas who still had tents put them up – the others were given huts by the village.

"So, this is our destination…" the demon hunter murmured, stepping up beside Zul'vii and looking out at the water. She nodded.

"Yes. It is still my recommendation that you go back to Kalimdor."

"And what if I don't?"

"Then I bid you good luck. And farewell." Illidan scowled. "I'm sorry, but if you are going to sit here and just wait for an Arch demon to take you out, I'm not going to sit around here waiting for said Arch demon to obliterate us both."

"So what choice do I have? If I do not do as you please, you leave and I die of Frostmourne's blade wound."

"Oh no, I'll stay long enough for you to heal. But past that if you are not preparing to leave, or have already left on your way to the Night Elf lands, _I_ will leave to protect my people and myself." He 'looked' at her darkly, and then looked back out at the ocean. Then he paused, stiffening.

" 'Or have already left' on my way? Before you finish healing me? What makes you think you're coming to Kalimdor with me?"

"That's your choice, not mine- but I assume you would want your horns back." He sneered, hands clenching.

"Why do you want to go to Kalimdor?" he asked nastily.

"No reason. As I said- it's your choice. If you go, I will make no move to follow you, unless you ask it of me for some hitherto unknown reason. Besides, I don't need you if I want to get to Kalimdor. I have an armada of ships at my disposal here. I could go anywhere I pleased. Why can't you accept people offering to help you?" He snarled as she hopped down from the rock she'd been previously standing on and started down for the village. Something rammed into her to the ground, and she barely had time to roll out of the way as Illidan's hoof came slamming down where her head had been on the grass. She moved into a crouch, ready to dodge, looking up at him as he fumed, shaking lightly, trying to get his hatred under control. It was a long, tense moment… and then Illidan slowly reached down to her. She eyed him a moment before taking his hand- his clawed fingers a bit larger then hers, for he currently towered at around 10 feet in height (The difference between him and Zul'vii, Zul'vii being a whopping 8 feet tall, is the same difference as between a six foot person and a four foot person.)- and he pulled her to her feet. Illidan looked at her a long moment, face blank. And then, to both of their astonishments, he threw his arms around her and hugged her tightly, almost crushingly. The half troll blinked, feeling pain spread through him, and quickly rushed her healing life energy into his wound. He relaxed, slouching a bit, his arms still wrapped tightly around her. Neither one said anything, both a bit confused, both a little hateful, and both a little needy.

No more overwhelming hatred. Just a child… Just a well-meaning child. A friend…

Unknown to either entity, half troll or Night Elf, a hand rested gently on the demonhunter's shoulder. MahiMahi stood invisibly at his side, her eyes blazed at the two, a gentle, pleased green in coloration. Her mission had finally begun...

_To reunite this world's heroes..._ Keever looked up her silently from where he stood off to the side. He said nothing, however, simply watching the two new entities. One was what appeared to be a young female troll... but emissions from Mahi clarified her to be half elf. The other was a Night Elf that had accepted a demonic gift to fight evil with. Images flashed through his mind, in two different sets. In one a troll and elf struggled desperately against a demon lord, the elf reading off a teleportation scroll as a halfbreed child in her arms cried. Then the child was without her mother, in the middle of nowhere during a blizzard. Cold, wet, and sobbing, she crawled through the snow a bit before being found by, of all things to, a very old, gray Tauran, flanked by a mischievously looking Satyr. She was in Kalimdor, the place her parents had never been allowed to reach.

In the other set of images was a horrible war, a war ages before the troll's birth, of the creation of the maelstrom and the destruction of the demons…

And the reconstruction of the well of eternity.

And then there was darkness. Pain… and anger… and loneliness…

And darkness pervaded everything… Betrayer… and betrayed…

_So trust…_ And that was what Mahi did- she strengthened things. In Illidan, that day, she strengthened his loneliness… and his meager belief and trust. And so he embraced his savior. For a brief… brief moment… he trusted Zul'vii. After a moment, she lifted her hand, and looked gently at Zul'vii.

_Do not leave him. He needs you. You cannot even begin to fathom how much he needs you- how much this world needs you both to fight for it…You are the only one who understands- the only one who he _can _trust._ After a moment she turned and came back up to Keever, smiling down at him and lifting a hand, gently touching his cheek.

"… Mahi?"

_Yes? _

"I have a better name for you." She tilted her head to the side. "The essence of good luck." Her eyes brightened and she laughed out loud, her voice pleasant but strange.

_Maybe. No one's ever thought of that before…_

"Oh so now you're finally talking to me?" She laughed again.

_Come, come, there is much to do. We have another soul to preserve. _He sighed and nodded, leaning against her and enjoying another hug. _You will be… surprised by this next one._

* * *

Kel'Thuzad, MahiMahi, Keever

Kel'Thuzad was lucky he was so valuable… or Arthas would have utterly destroyed him. Or perhaps… this was unlucky. One might assume that the Lich King would simply correct its error and entirely crush Kel'Thuzad's mind.

The poor lich was not so fortunate. The necromancers had reconstructed all the tissue of his body, and he was currently convulsing and screaming in agony as he was brutally ripped, slit, and burnt apart. Arthas gave Kel'Thuzad his entire mind- he felt pain with ever fiber of his being. Every nerve was exploited, every pain targeted by the simplest and most complex of tortures. He was left a withered heap of bone and ash, his aura dark blue, shuddering on the ground in agony and horror. And he was not free even then. Then he was assaulted magically, pulling apart his power complex and his mental being, forcing pain upon him even with no nerves left. Arthas was furious. He wanted Kel'Thuzad to suffer… And Ner'zhul, having been the object of so many tortures, knew exactly how to punish someone with originally… altruistic… intentions…

Keever couldn't help but smile while watching. After all, Kel'Thuzad WAS the thorn in Sylvanis's side, the creature that had saved Arthas from dying at her hand. But he felt Mahi's mind working again. He felt her pour her power into what was left of Kel'Thuzad.

_Come back, little mage… We miss you…_The lich's eyes widened as he shuddered in pure anguish. _We remember you… We miss you…Come back, little mage… _

_What are you? _He managed out in agony.

_Come back, little mage. For Ketala. _

_Ketala is dead. _

_Are you sure? Did you see the blow? _Keever jumped, feeling a surprising surge of mass raw emotion coming from the litch. _Make sure _you_ aren't dead when she comes looking for you. _

_Looking-? _

_Of course, little mage. She loves you. Survive. Come back…_ Keever blinked, looking up at Mahi as she pulled back and smiled at him… took his hand… and vanished with him again.

* * *

Varimathras, Sylvanis

Varimathras lifted his head slowly. The first thing that registered in his mind was that the window was opened. Had his agony pleased her so? Then he realized his wounds were thoroughly bandaged and bathed in healing salve. He propped himself up weakly, looking at his newly made bed, its blood-soaked sheets having been changed during his sleep.

He turned his head, seeing Sylvanis with her head and one arm propped on the bed, surprisingly… asleep, or close to it. Varimathras wasn't even aware a Banshee ranger could sleep. Then again- maybe she wasn't.

"Sylvanis, Arthas is attacking!" No response. "… I purred for you again, didn't I?" he inquired of the sleeping woman. "Why does such a… pathetic noise please you so much?" He looked at her silently a moment, and then leaned over, touching her white hair. He tried hard… tried to recreate the sound of that purr, to no avail. He closed his eyes, calling forward what passion and feeling he had, trying to stimulate anything but a purr of lust. His eyes opened and he looked at her. He remembered her servants taking over the torture… She had left… she left so as not to hear his pain. He grinned, suddenly realizing something

Sylvanis had asked him if he enjoyed the Succubus's company because she needed to motivate herself to hurt him. She had not wanted to punish him for what he had done. But why had she continued to act like his pain would please her? Did she hate him or did she not? Did his pain please her? Then why was he so laced with pain-killer?

Confused, he watched Sylvanis stir, looking up at him. She was silent a long moment. Then she crawled onto the bed and into his lap, curling up against him. He stiffened, eyes widening, staring down at her with confusion and some fear. Then he chuckled lightly, folding his arms around her. He felt her tense as if struck, and hastily attempted to soothe her… Only he had no idea what to do… Simple, friendly affection was not his area of expertise. He came upon an idea, and gently began to rock her. It worked, lulling the woman into a half-slumber. This pleased him immeasurably, and he smiled lightly.

"Are you happy?" he asked tentatively after many moments.

"Why?"

"…If I please you, perhaps you will not be angry with me." She laughed lightly, amused.

"Tell me, why are you letting me know that you're sucking up?"

"I can't please you like I could a mortal or another demon- with temptation or power or anything. And I can't lie, or you would know it."

"I am happy," she said simply. "As happy as I can be." He nodded, gently moving his bat wings around her, making sure not to harm her with his long needle-like claws. "Tell me, did you really enjoy that succubus's attention?" He stiffened again, not sure what to say. After a moment, he said,

"No, it infuriated me." She lifted a brow, looking at him. "I was helpless to stop it."

"Exactly…" she murmured out, evidently pleased. He blinked. "You are helpless, aren't you Varimathras…? You either obey me or you die…" She smiled lightly and looked up at him. "You'd never sacrifice yourself. That's why I can trust you. If I lose, you die. I am guaranteed that you are loyal… because you cannot be disloyal." He fell silent, staring at her. "Aren't we a pair?"

"What will you do with me when you win this war?"

"A war is never the end of conflict. I'm sure you will always have something to keep you busy." He relaxed, smiling to himself.

"Then I have all I want."

"Good. Because if you don't stop messing with the apothecaries' poisons, I am going to have your horns forcefully pulled from your forehead." He swallowed past a lump. He might have guessed she'd noticed.

* * *

Thrall, Jaina, Vol'jin, Tauran

"I never thought these old eyes would ever see such purity," Cairne murmured, his large, three-fingered hand gently petting the equine creature. "Where did you find this creature?"

"In the forest. It had been beaten up by the demons," Jaina responded in broken Orcish. She didn't know the language as well as Thrall knew Common. Cairne nodded, turning to Thrall and Jaina.

"She will be alright. It is good of you to have brought her to the Tauran to care for." Jaina smiled.

"I was wondering… Should we let Tyrande and Furion know about this unicorn? I mean… Malfurion is a druid… And the Night Elves like nature just as much as any orc or Tauran. Cairne nodded.

"I will have a rider deliver a letter to Ashenvale. Hopefully it will reach the Night Elves quickly." Jaina nodded.

"I could write it for you. Not that Thrall doesn't have lovely, feminine penmanship, but Tyrande and Malfurion would probably like it better if I mention I'm here- it'll let her know this isn't some sort of ruse. The Night Elves have sorta sided with the alliance after all. And you three could sign it." The three leaders looked at each other and then nodded at her.

"Ja," mused Vo'jin. "Da Night Elves always be complainin 'bout mah grammer anywayz." Jaina grinned, covering her mouth politley to keep from laughing.

"Feminine penmanship, eh?" Thrall asked, sidling closer to Jaina so as not to speak too loudly and wake the Unicorn. She grinned up at him with her eyes and he laughed lightly back.


	9. Come to an understanding

If anyone was wondering, I don't own World of Warcraft. If you thought I did... Your IQ is running on the slower side... Sorry...

NOW THAT THAT'S OVER WITH : ) !

I was very bored today. So I thought I'd write you all a chapter. I hope you enjoy it.

And can someone please help me complain to blizzard about the skimpy way all girls seem to dance on World of Warcraft? No really, it's degrading. Can't at least half of the girls have cool dances? The Tauran girl's got a cool dance. All the guys have cool dances except the Night elves, but they look like Michael Jackson so they amuse us and get off easy. But come on, all the girl undead gets to do is WAVE HER ARMS IN THE AIR! In interpritive dance! The male undead gets to head bang. Why can't the girls have cool dances?

* * *

**_Come to an Understanding_**

* * *

Ketala, Othen, Therian, Thrash, Locke

Her one-time opponent had become her crusader. Ketala was standing in an old temple, around half a mile from StormWind. Locke stood at her side, with Thrash and Therian behind her. But in front of her, the single obstruction between she and three zealous elder paladins and priests, was Othen. He was explaining her story, her strange immunity to the powers of the light, and how she had purged the banshees. When he was finished, the single priest in the ground spoke up.

"It could simply be her elemental heritage. The Holy energy can simply be only effecting her untainted elemental side. That she can purge banshee spirits has nothing to do with divine light- it comes from the power of her blades. Othen stumbled, his argument nearly destroyed. So he held onto the one argument that had not yet been disproved.

"But what about the cat?"

"Animals can be trained to be used to thing that they would otherwise avoid." Othen faltered, crestfallen. Such simply logic had broken his whole argument. He was embarrassed to have so horribly analyzed the situation.

"That doesn't explain why she could call the pigeon." Everyone but Ketala looked back at Therian. She was looking at the ground in her peculiar fashion, hearing and interpreting everything that was said, but not really involved with it. "A pigeon was avoiding its tamer, skittish around all the smells of war. When Ketala was explained what the messenger pigeon was, something happened and the pigeon suddenly flew directly to her." Othen blinked and the paladins looked at one another. They spoke together for a moment. Then one turned to the small escort of men with him. He called forward a falconer who had a massive powerful kite perched on one arm and a cage of messenger pigeons. He knelt, opening the catch and pulling out a pigeon, letting it rest on the arm opposite the kite. The paladin nodded and turned back to her.

"Then let us see her repeat this trick." Othen nodded, looking back at Ketala.

"Can you call the bird?" She smiled lightly, lifting her head and looking at him. The bird leapt from the falconer's arm, flitting up to her and perching on her head almost comically. She smiled a bit more and it hopped to her shoulder, she petting it gently under the chin. The paladins murmured to one another. "Can you call the falcon?" She was silent a long moment.

"Kite," she said after a moment. The paladin blinked.

"What?"

"… His mind is screaming 'kite.' I must infer 'kite' is the type of bird." The falconer's eyes widened and he stumbled backwards, touching the side of his head. The paladin's eyes narrowed.

"You can read minds?"

"No… He's… yelling it out mentally…" she said with some confusion.

"'Yelling it out'?"

"Yes… Projecting it as if to say it… only not making it into vocal sound… That's what I hear… It is how they had to give me orders… because my mind is not united with the litch king's will. It's 'telepathy,' the ability to speak or listen with the mind." The paladins looked at her distrustfully and she shifted lightly. Othen winced, sighing silently, and Therian looked sadly at her. Then she suddenly turned. She looked at Therian a moment and then smiled gently before grabbing Thrash around the shoulders and swinging up onto his back. She didn't listen to the shouts behind her. A simple mental command made Thrash shoot forward, bounding away. A bolt of holy light skimmed off her, doing no damage. She heard horse hooves behind her and she touched their minds gently, explaining that they were carrying their masters to kill her. The horses expressed their love for their masters, their desire to obey. But they understood their masters would not be hurt… and that they would save Ketala. They reared, spinning around and standing firm, despite the curses and pleadings of their masters.

Late into the night, Ketala eased Thrash into a walk, and finally let him lay down, stroking his back as she gathered wood for a fire. It didn't take long for her to get a small blaze going. She sighed and then got up, creeping through the forest until she came upon a deer. Silently she moved forward, making sure to stay down wind of it. Silently her blade cleaved through it as she quickly seized its mind and numbed its pain. It died quickly, and she carried the carcass back to Thrash for him to eat. He tore into it thankfully, and was soon sound asleep, purring like a kitten. Ketala smiled gently at him… and then lowered her head, looking at the ground. She shuddered lightly, wrapping her arms around herself and hissing out lightly.

"Now where will I go…?" she said softly. "No one will help… where am I to go…? Arthas will make sure to crush my will power if the undead find me… And his only enemy that I know about is the Silver Hand… and they want me dead… Where do I go now? I think there are undead who fight against Arthas… But I have no idea who they are or where to find them… And they might not want me either…" Her eyes closed tightly, and she zoned out. When she opened them again, the elder priest was before her. He was old and, judging by the fairness of his features, possibly possessing a few drops of elfin blood. He watched her silently a long moment, a Tome of Light cradled in one arm, but his blade in its sheath.

"Your name… is Ketala Fiheriae?" She looked at him a moment and then slowly nodded. "That name means 'servant of ice.'"

"Then call me Ket," she said softly. A small smile graced his lips and he slowly walked up to her. He tilted his head to the side.

"Tell me, what do you know of the Silver Hand?"

"Only that it's a group of paladins and priests who fight against Arthas."

"Do you know what a paladin is?"

"One who fights for the Light."

"And what is the Light?" She paused, blinking. Then she shook her head.

"I don't know."

"It is the idea of doing what is right and just. Do you know what that means?"

"… Sort of…" He sighed lightly, tilting his head to the side.

"The idea of protecting those who are good or innocent. Of fighting against those who would destroy that innocence and goodness. Fighting things that would kill for no reason, as Arthas kills."

"What is innocent?"

"When a person means no harm to anyone." She nodded slowly.

"… I might not be innocent… But I'm not trying to hurt anyone… Why do you hate me…?" He sighed softly.

"Everyone must judge. If they do not judge, they are too easily tricked and destroyed. Naturally, they must judge… And your kind, in all past times, has lead only to death and pain… Paladins cannot be expected to trust you."

"Then how can I make them?" She said, standing abruptly and causing him to put one hand to his blade. "How can I make them trust me? Or where can I find someone who will trust me already?"

"… There are those who defy the Litch King, in favor of freedom. They are called the Forsaken… and because of their maliciousness… and because hateful judgment on their part and on ours… They are enemies with the Silver Hand…"

"… What do they fight for?"

"To destroy all those who hate them… They are like you. No one would accept them… and they would not yield to Arthas… So they become hateful themselves… and they fight to save their existence… By rooting out all those who would destroy them…" She fell silent, looking at him a long moment.

"… I would be safe there…"

"Yes. You would be well appreciated by Sylvanis…"

"… … Why haven't _you_ killed me yet…?" He looked at her a long moment. Then he smiled.

"You're too… real…" She blinked, tilting her head to the side. "No anger… no hatred… and yet with a surprising flare of will and personality. Unlike both Scourge and Forsaken…" There was a brief pause… And then the priest was abruptly hugged by the young half-elemental. He blinked, half drawing his sword, and then fell silent, staring down at her. After a moment, he sighed and gently patted her on the back. "Tell me, can you cause an animal to do something against its will?" She was silent a moment.

"It depends on what you mean… I couldn't make a man's loyal horse put him in danger… But if a horse wants to eat an apple, I can convince it to eat hay instead. I heard hooves following me… The horses wanted to obey, wanted to please their riders… But they understood their riders wouldn't undergo any lasting damage… And they'd save me…" He took her by the shoulders, pushing her back a bit and looking at her seriously.

"And why would they do that for you, Ket?"

"Things… like me… I don't know why. I only know as long as I do not suppress my will and emotions, everything 'likes me,' especially animals and undead. It only affects people a little bit. As soon as I suppress my will and emotion, nothing recognizes me any more. That's why the undead didn't make me mindless- my emotions give me this strange ability…

"Who raised you? Why do you think he let you flee?"

"His name was…" She paused "I called him Guardian, but his name was Kel'Thuzad. Arthas liked him… so I must assume he was important." The priest's eyes darkened and she shifted again, as if ready to run.

"Liked?"

"Yes… in some strange way… Arthas didn't suppress Kel'Thuzad's mind often. He let the lich's greed drive him into pure loyalty and obedience. I think Kel'Thuzad in a warped way liked me… I think that's why he let me go."

"Did you care about him in return?"

"Yes. But he told me not to heed his call after I left… And I now understand why he said that. If Arthas finds me…" She lowered her head. The priest regarded her a long, long moment. Then he nodded, and let go of her shoulders.

"Can you read?" She blinked.

"Read? What is that?" He smiled lightly, and opened his book, gently offering it to her. She tilted her head to the side, examining the variously colored symbols covering the pages.

"To read is to have been taught to understand the meanings of symbols like these. Writings such as these are ways to pass down and maintain ideas and stories, even though their original creators can be far away, or even dead." Slowly, she nodded.

"Is this book about the ideals of the light?" He smiled, nodding. "… Can you read it to me…?" He laughed lightly.

"That would take some time. How about I teach you to read instead?" She blinked, looking up at him.

"But… That would take time."

"Indeed," he said solemnly. "Come back to the temple, and I swear to you I will help them accept you." She blinked, her eyes widening lightly.

"You would do that?" He nodded. "…Why?"

"To keep Sylvanis or Arthas from gaining a new weapon." Her brows creased and her lips tightened, she frowning. He blinked.

"So, am I to be _your_ weapon _instead_?" He fell silent, regarding her a moment. Then he took her by the chin and looked her directly in the eyes.

"The point of the Light is to be against such practices. To fight for freedom and truth and innocence. How you use your talents is up to you, not me. I will try to help you…" She was silent a long moment, and then, quite abruptly, hugged him again, embracing him tightly. The priest smiled, and she released.

"Thank you." She turned, running back to Thrash and rubbing his shoulder. Thrash blinked and lifted his head, yawning and sniffing her. He looked at the priest and tense. There he paused, and then simply relaxed, standing up with her and trotting at her side. "Can Thrash come? He has been my friend for so long." The priest smiled gently, and nodded, taking one of her shoulders and gently leading her back toward the temple.

* * *

Zul'vii, Illidan, Lady Vashj, Myev, Zul'jin, Tyrande, Jaina, MahiMahi, Keever

Zul'vii laughed, gripping several of the ropes along the bow of the ship and leaning out toward the water. Salty spree blew through her long brown and green hair and over her face. The sea could be a treacherous place, but with shaman and priests of every kind limiting disease, vermin, and other such problems, the voyage was pleasant. The chill of the ever-winter lands was left behind… The warmth of the tropics ensued as they sailed south, around the maelstrom. They would make a stop at ratchet, for food and supplies, and then sail north to Darkshore, or Ashenvale to find Tyrande. She turned her head, looking back to see Illidan standing up on the next deck, keeping an eye on her. He tried to avoid her. She always saw him watching from a distance.

Zul'vii smiled warmly at him and then looked out at the ocean.

"I see you like the waters," said a hissing voice from beside her. She smiled lightly, looking over at Vashj.

"I see you like the waters," she repeated, laughing lightly. Vashj's lips tightened, somewhere between amused an annoyed. "Yes. The ocean is beautiful when so still. I assume a storm would be just as beautiful, but that would be rather unpleasant for us poor land people's sake." Vashj allowed a weak smile, lifting her torso up a bit higher with her tail and looking down at the water below.

"I am not fond of the idea of returning to the Night Elves… But I would love to see my homeland again…"

"Well, if I remember, Furion currently owes you a bit of a favor, considering you and Illidan rescued Tyrande." Vashj snorted.

"Furion is young and foolish."

"I don't want to be mean or anything… but to be very blunt, Furion might be foolish, but he hasn't brought any demons into the world yet." Vashj whipped her head around, glaring daggers at Zul'vii. "I understand your addiction to magic. But I'm right, no? Furion has only been responsible for _stopping_ the demons from destroying the world."

"You understand nothing, _child. _Silence your foolish tongue." She was unprepared for Zul'vii seizing her by the shoulders and lifting her up to eye level.

"Alright, listen here Vashj. It was your wonderful queen who was responsible for the intrusion of demons into the world and mostly responsible for the pollution and consequently, destruction of the well of eternity."

"The druids destroyed the well!"

"Did they have any other choice?" She swallowed, biting back on the fury that shown through her eyes.

"I'm not saying it's your fault… But how long can a person live on borrowed magic from demons before they ask for favors? It's addictive. You need it. And because your queen needed it, the demons almost destroyed this world. If anyone has the right idea about how to handle a highly addictive substance, it was Illidan in his youth- merely wanting it- not greedy for the powers of the demon-kind. Magic is dangerous! If you are going to continue practicing it, don't get ahead of yourself and do something so stupid as letting demons manipulate your addiction. And for hell's sake, stop hating Furion! So he's a bit narrow-minded- so what? At least he's trying. You just whine about the evil night elves and not having much magic." She dropped Vashj abruptly and the Naga looked up evilly at her. "Tell me, what's one thing you've done good for this world?"

"What makes you think the world is important?"

"Well if it dies, you're evidently going with it, so it must be rather important!"

"We struck out at Arthas- and it was Furion who interrupted the Litch King's inevitable defeat!"

"Yes, and you did that for Kil'jaden. Tell me, don't you think the demon lord had ulterior motives? Do you think he wanted Arthas dead out of the goodness of his heart?"

"What would you have had us do?" she asked bitterly. "He promised power. Would you have had us accomplished the same exact thing with no reward?"

"Yes."

"You're insane."

"If you receive no reward… then you have no connection to him. He will not ask you for 'favors' in the future. He will have no way to pollute you."

"We need magic."

"Yes. And once you get it, you need more. The demons are the same way- craving more and more-"

"Enough! You are insane and altruistic. I will not debate this further with you!" she said with a hiss, turning and slinking off. Zul'vii sighed, watching her go. She turned, leaning over the side again. And then she yelped, clutching her head. There was a moment of intense pain… and then she hit cold water. There was a sucking, the crushing pressure of water and wood and then a dreadful sinking. Weak logic convinced her not to breathe in, to stay still and conserve meager seconds of oxygen. Seconds passed. Maybe she shouldn't have gotten so mad at Vashj. There were Naga in the water… if she hadn't made Vashj angry, the Naga might have helped her… She sighed out a stream of bubbles, ready to breathe in the water and end her pain, her head now reeling in agony. A hand grabbed her, dragging her to the surface. She screamed as she reached the top and choked out bloody water… before fainting. She stirred an undefined amount of time later, feeling her face being gently brushed over. Her eyes opened and she focused up on the being who, apparently, was holding her.

"What… happened…?"

"I was about to ask you," he said in monotone. "It looked like you had a seizure." Illidan… It was Illidan.

"My mother… was a little pissed…" He snorted and Zul'vii grunted. "You try not fainting with her yelling! Bicker, bicker, bicker, that's all they do. Look, now he's yelling at her for making me faint. Yell, yell, yell."

"You are crazy," he said with an irritated tone. She looked up at him and then promptly touched her palm to his forehead. He yelped and then froze up as his mind was shoved into a plane of never-ending white, leaving his body behind. He blinked, immediately realizing he could see in color, and he stood up abruptly upon finding that he was sitting down.

"What… just happened?"

"You're in my mind :), which explains why you can suddenly see in color." He whipped his head to the side, staring down at the girl who had so long been only aura and voice. Her hair was chocolate brown tinted with streaks of dark green and cyan in places, especially close to the skull, indicating that her hair emerged cyan and later on turned to dark brown. Her eyes were pale, as were all elf eyes, but her irises were mottled green and orange. Her tusks were not visible through her lips, and though her forehead was swept back a bit more, her face was delicately and nobly featured, almost heart shaped. Each of her hands had five fingers, and her feet had four toes, visible because ever since the temperature had risen, she had run around barefoot. She was lithe, powerful, and rather beautiful, her skin creamy green in coloration with speckles of high elf white and darker, forest troll green. She was beautiful, but she was not seductive. Her chest was rudimentarily flat, her clothes made of leather and mail and not at all revealing. The lean muscle under her skin formed in tight cords, her creamy colored skin toughened and leathery in texture. She was not prejudiced or self-righteous. She never felt zeal against her foes, and was endlessly compassionate.

As she stood there, Illidan Stormrage was struck with the realization that Zul'vii was the complete and polar opposite of Tyrande. She did not have the wild, soft but powerful beauty of Tyrande. She was modest and compassionate, but extremely adventurous and playful- nothing like what Tyrande was.

"… And what, exactly, am I doing in your mind?"

"Well, since you didn't believe me, I thought I'd prove it to you."

"Rather empty in here, isn't it?" he asked, smiling evilly and reflecting on how her mind was a vacant white plane.

"Hey-"

"IM GOING TO KILL HIM!" It was about then that Illidan was shoved to the ground, and a very angry being began trying to throttle him to death. He snarled, fighting back…

And feeling strangely powerless.

"MYEV!" The very angry being was ripped off of him, and he looked up to see a pissed off male troll currently holding an elf off the ground.

"LET ME AT HIM! IM GOING TO KILL HIM!"

"You crazy, delusional, mentally disturbed woman! If we remember correctly, it was YOU trying to blast Vashj with holy magic through Zul'vii that nearly drowned her, and it was HE who saved her life!"

"OH SHUT UP YOU- (String of explicit swearwords that had to be omitted for the sake of both the writer and reader). This never would have happened if you had just-"

"OH SO NOW YOU'RE GOING TO BLAME IT ON ME, IS THAT IT?"

"**_BOTH OF YOU BE QUIET!"_**

Both angry entities blinked, falling silent and looking over at their daughter, whom had been the one who yelled.

"Geez… Now do you understand why I have headaches? You'd have headaches too if you had to listen to this all day!"

"… I can well imagine…" Illidan muttered. Both troll and elf were immediately sorry, and both expressing their apologies to their daughter, standing there rather awkwardly. The troll cleared his throat and then said,

"Well… why exactly did you bring him in here?"

"He wouldn't believe me, so I thought I'd show him first hand."

"Oh," he said, and another awkward silence stretched. He snuck a glare at Myev and then held out a hand as if to shake. "My name is Zul'jin, Illidan." The demon eyed him a moment. He had five fingers, indicating an ancient royal bloodline… a bloodline that had spliced several times with that of the elves. Then, Illidan nodded, taking the offered hand and shaking. "If you're wondering why the elfin temper tantrum's mad at you, I'm not sure either O.o. I think she's still upset about the whole tree on fire thing." Illidan winced, nearly imperceptibly, and let go.

"D-mn right I am," she said bitterly.

"Oh come on, haven't you tried to kill me many times already?"

"Yes, well now you ARE dead, so we don't have THAT problem any more."

"Doesn't mean you don't try to O.o…"

"ARE YOU SUGGESTING THAT IT IS ALRIGHT THAT SOMEONE ATTEMPTED TO MURDER YOUR DAUGHTER!"

"No! I'm merely saying that-" He was tackled through a tree, which sprang up out of Zul'vii's mind for just that purpose, and the two proceeded to try and choke the life out of one another, randomly throwing each other into randomly appearing objects. Zul'vii sighed, shaking her head, and Illidan shuddered as his mind snapped back into his own body. He shuddered violently, nearly dropping the girl he carried, and then looked down at her. She winced and smiled weakly up at him.

"See? They're really quite unpleasant sometimes."

"… Do they always argue?"

"No, but I prefer they do."

"Why?"

"Do you really think its pleasant having your parents acting all mushy in your head where you can't escape them?" He blinked and then smiled lightly and gently set her down on her feet.

"There… can you stand?" Her legs buckled a bit, wavered, and finally held underneath her, and she nodded at last.

"Yes… … Thank you for saving my life…" He snorted.

"You die and I die, remember?" She smiled.

"Doesn't seem to have stopped you in the past." His light smile turned into a scowl.

"Indeed…" he muttered darkly. She laughed lightly, kissing him on the nose and then backing up. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. That made her laugh lightly again and reach forward, gently touching the edge of the bandage. Immediately, he went impassive, letting her examine the wound. The bandage was damp and filthy. It would have to be rebound.

"It has to be cleaned and rebound." He snorted and nodded, following her down into the ship and into her room. He waited there, sopping wet, until she fished up some more bandages, salves. He snorted and immolated himself, steaming lightly as the water evaporated. She smirked and waited for him to stop before gently peeling away the bandage and dabbing various salves and potions over it, letting soothing healing energy flow through him. His brow furrowed and he hissed lightly at every touch until the pain faded in her energy. "Healing beautifully." From what he could tell, Frostmourne's taint had greatly diminished, leaving only a thick, hard scarred area. Even that was beginning to fade, hopefully fading into a simple imperfection in his coloring. "I've a question."

"You have many of them. What does this one happen to be?"

"Why on earth are you covered in dark purple whirls?" He smiled grimly.

"They are ruins of protection- the only armor a Demonhunter uses."

"Hmm. I'm glad they still wear pants." He scowled and she laughed lightly. "Are druids the only night elves that don't run around in simply the bare necessities?"

"Would you prefer I dress like a druid?" She looked at him and grinned.

"Doesn't suit you, you're too morbid. Besides, where would your wings go?" He snorted as she finished tying the bandage. "There, all better. One more question?"

"In our lifetimes? Certainly, yes." She smirked.

"One more question for now. What to demons need horns for?" He paused.

"What?"

"Well, why do you need horns? You're never going to stoop over and use them to hurl something over your head." He blinked, falling silent.

"They are rather impractical… aren't they…?"

"Course they make you look scarier… But then again, we are trying to make Furion and Tyrande more comfortable around you…"

"Don't heal them," he said abruptly. "They're bulky. I defy the point of having no armor if I have weight like that impeding me." She nodded and looked at his wings.

"Can you fly?"

"I thought you said only one more question." He smiled wryly. "No, I've never had enough time to teach myself how to fly- even if I could. They're another irritating burden- but at least there is the possibility of putting them to use. Now, I have a question."

"GASP. _You_ have a question for _me_? What is this world coming to?"

"Do not make me regret saying that."

"My apologies."

"As I was saying… Why is it that your mother was so tall? From what I know, High Elves are notoriously shorter their Night Elves, and fair skinned as well as blonde. Your mother was not blonde either- she had dark violet hair."

"Well, actually, that was what I was going to say, before you asked about my mom. I could teach you to fly." He tilted his head to the side and then backed up a step as she pulled off her outer armor. Beneath the leather and mail, she wore a simple leather blouse. But it was her back that was most intriguing. Through the back of her shirt, there was cut two holes. Through these holes protruded a few gold tendril-like formations, spreading out in a vaguely wing-like formation. "My mother is some strange kind of elf angel, or something like that. From what I can tell, these are wings." Illidan looked at her a moment and then burst out laughing. She blinked, looking up at him. "What…?" He kept laughing, his laughter almost insane in nature- boarding between mirth and madness. Finally he calmed, chuckling lightly.

"Ah… So now I understand why I hate you for some hitherto unknown reason. I was right, some force was manipulating me- my own blood!" He grinned darkly, circling her. "A half angel… and I, half demon. That explains much." She blinked and blushed lightly, pulling her wings tight against her back. He laughed again, a light, feral chuckle, and then wrapped his arms around her from behind. She blinked, tilting her head back and looking up at him. "You can't help being trustworthy then… so helpful, so kind… It's in your blood."

"So is the blood of a ruthless cannibal and mastermind of cruelty. It was his decisions that made him love an elf- not his blood- by far." He cackled softly, embracing her tightly.

"Zul'vii…" He murmured softly. She was silent a long moment, and then lifted a hand, gently touching his cheek, nothing more. "… Thank you." She did not respond, did not ask 'for what?' She let Illidan hug his guardian angel. She let him embrace his only friend.

This was not like what was between Zul'jin and Myev… or what Illidan felt for Tyrande. This was… different. This wasn't love in the conventional way. This was the love one feels for a church, a paladin, a psychiatrist. For a savior. Not for a woman, a potential spouse and mate- but instead for a girl. For a friend. For a savior. The same love a man feels on the battleground, when his comrade moves between him and an oncoming blow, and dies for it.

* * *

Tyrande lifted her head from a letter in her hands as a runner dashed breathlessly up to her NightSaber Tiger. "High Priestess Tyrande," she managed out. As Night Elves were born athletics, it must have been urgent- for this woman must have run a over long distance excruciatingly quickly to be so out of breath. 

"Yes, what is it, sister?" she asked, looking directly at the runner.

"There are several ships approaching from the south of Ashenvale… my lady…" she breathed out, the first part in a rush and the second part in but a gasp. "They…" She paused, breathing deeply. From the south… This woman had gone by mount, entirely skipping Auberdine and dashing desperately for Darkshore. There she must have gotten mounted on a hippogriff and flew directly for Darnassus, without stop for break. Pushing a mount that fast took a vast amount of natural energy and concentration, not to mention coaxing. She was deservedly winded.

"Why did you come so fast, runner?"

"Milady… Naga are following the ships… They heading directly for Tedrassil, and the druid with me told me that an aura of magic hung heavily around the lead ship- indicating a demon… No crew was on board- the vessels seemed to be powered primarily by magic." Tyrande's eyes widened a small degree and then she was silent. Her mind, calculating through all the possible causes of this, came upon a startling revelation. A demon. Naga. Magic.

Illidan. Could it be possible that he returned? But why? She stroked the back of her tiger a long, long moment.

"Ready twice as many ships as they have. Make sure the druids seal them against fire and frost. If there is indeed the threat of demonic invasion coming upon those ships, they will not be allowed to even reach Tedrassil!" she said to a huntress beside her. "Go!" The Huntress nodded respectfully, and shot off on her own mount.

"What do you think it is?" said a human voice beside her. Tyrande looked down at Jaina Proudmoore and the Tauran ambassador, both whom she had been speaking with previous to the runner's interruption, and whose letter she had thoroughly read.

"An old acquaintance, one which we can hopefully avoid crossing blades with. I wish for Furion's presence at times like these. I will attend to the matter of the unicorn once this is done- it is certainly an important discovery." The Tauran ambassador nodded, smiling with relief. The human, on the other hand, was much more irrepressible.

"Not to be rude or anything in a way I have no current knowledge about, but would it be possible for me to go?" Tyrande blinked, looking down at her.

"I've never had the honor of being on a Night Elf ship, and my people are a race of ship-builders. Besides, I'm here, aren't I? I might as well be of some use." The Priestess allowed a small, taunt smile, and nodded, and in one motion picked the much smaller woman off the ground, sat her on the back of the Nightsaber tiger, and took off.

Jaina would much more prefer the boat ride to the tiger, as she would later comment, rubbing her hind quarters in an attempt to stop the throbbing pain, an effect of an inexperienced rider desperately clinging for dear life to the back of a Nightsaber.

* * *

Keever watched as MahiMahi stooped, setting down a toad- which he could only assume to be Zenn Foulhoof- down on the deck. It hopped off, terrified, toward the side of the deck. After eyeing the Naga below it for five seconds, it trembled in terror and headed for the inside of the ship. Keever blinked his one good eye and shook his head, violet tongue twisting. What was that supposed to accomplish? Mahi followed the toad… and Keever followed Mahi. 

And he looked on in surprise as Zul'vii stumbled upon the toad, blinking and staring down at it.

"Where did you come from?" she asked, kneeling down. The toad froze up in terror as she picked it up, examining it. Promptly, it wet itself and a grin split over her face. "That was a rather humanoid response. Maybe you're polymorphed?" For the first time in his life, Zenn Foulhoof decided to keep his mouth shut. She laughed lightly, gently stroking the toad's back. "There, there, you're terrified. Let's get you something to eat… How does venison sound?" The toad started, looking up at her. She carried it to the mess room, picking out some dried venison and offering it to the toad. The toad sniffed in, having been tricked into eating something dangerous once before…

The stupid treats that had gotten him turned into a toad…

But he was so hungry. He promptly bit the venison, pulling it into his mouth and ate it. "Better?" Zul'vii asked, smiling, and offering him a bit more. He ate a bit more of the food and then crept closer to her, sniffing the hand that held a large clump of venison. She laughed, letting him dig into the clump, leaving him a very fat, content toad. That done, she picked him up and set him on her shoulder. "There. Instead of a parrot, I have a polymorphed toad." She grinned toothily. "And you can't complain- I don't mind the taste of frog-legs and I doubt toad-legs taste any different." He quailed again and she smiled, patting him gently. "Just stay out of trouble."

Keever shook his head again. _So strange, MahiMahi. What do you have planned? Why give her a toad known to have once been a Satyr? What will that accomplish?_

"Mahi?" She looked down at him. "Keever is hungry. You eat, too." She grinned lightly and shook her head, leading him up to the deck. They had a picnic there, the strangest of creatures in the strangest of places, nibbling fruits, breads, and meats of all the strangest varieties.


	10. What Love Might Be

I am aware that many Warcraft sources depict Female Night Elves as being shorter than Male Night Elves. I haven't had time to compare them on WoW. In the world of Warcraft roll playing game players guid, it appears that they are both the same size. I have always pictured Night Elf Women as being taller because they were the Sentinels, the fighters, the combatants. Men were the druids, working more with natural energy then with combat. Thusly, I have chosen to depict Night Elf women such as Myev, at 7 - 7 1/2 feet tall and the men being 6 1/2 - 7 feet tall, with the average population standing at around 7 feet tall.

Let's see, I believe the heights stand at:

Illidan: around 10 feet (Could pose as tree);

Zul'jin: 8 1/2 feet tall ("I can see my house from here!")

Zul'vii: at least 8 feet. (How's the weather up there?);

Myev: Same as Zul'vii (How's the weather up there?)

Cairn Bloodhoof: 8 feet tall (The greatest and wisest of the Tauran)

Vol'jin: Just below 8 feet tall (Short... For a troll, that is)

Tyrande: Above 7 1/2 feet. (Giant);

Malfurion: Same as Tyrande (Giant);

Varimathras: Just above 7 feet. (Basketball player);

Sylvanis: 7 feet (Basketball player (Don't ask me why she's so tall, she towers over me in Wow));

Thrall: around 6 1/2 feet. (Nice and tall);

Kael: 6 feet (Above human average);

Ketala: 5'7" (Human female average)

Vashj: Hard to tell- appears 5'5" (Human female average)

Jaina: 5'2" (Shrimp-like)

The Average heights are: Troll: 8 feet, Tauran: 7 1/2 feet, Night Elf: 7 feet, Orc: 6 feet, High Elf: 6 feet, Human: 5'7.

For those of you that don't know, Icecrown Glacier, where Illidan fought Arthas, is on the continent of Northrend, which is located between the eastern kingdoms and Kalimdor.. I have just discovered this by looking at a full map of the World of Warcraft world. Sorry I didn't decide to find that out earlier

* * *

**_What Love Might Be_**  


* * *

Ketala's tale...

Ketala staid close beside the priest, practically lost in his shadow. She'd made Thrash wait some paces behind- he could do no good this time, and at least if she died, he would live. As they reentered the old temple grounds, Ketala saw the two elder paladins glaring down at her. She hid further behind the priest at this, though, as always, never once did her heart race with fear. Othen, Therian, and Locke had long since left, perhaps looking for her or perhaps moving on.

For the first time, Ketala realized that she was alone, at the mercy of these paladins. She had no defenders this time. Not even Thrash. Feeling slightly betrayed, she halted at the edge of the temple grounds. The priest noticed after a step away from her, and blinked, looking back at her.

"What's wrong?" he asked gently. She shifted, her physical 'fight or flight' response indicator, and he smiled upon recognizing that signal. "It's alright, come on," he coaxed. She hesitated, shifting a moment more, before stepping up onto the cool marble. Instantly, she returned to his shadow. He looked at her, marveling her child-like response. Then he turned, leading her up to the other elders. On had graying auburn hair, and a beard and mustache. He hefted a massive war hammer, looking down at her with piercing blue eyes, both filled with disgust. The other had a broad jaw and clean-shaven face, with short gray hair. He spoke first.

"I see you have found the… creature." The priest nodded.

"I convinced her to return with me willingly."

"And how, pray tell, did you manage that?" asked the paladin with the war hammer.

"I promised her I would attempt to convince you not to slay her." Both paladins blinked, taken aback."

"Gydrion, you cannot mean to uphold-"

"Would you have me label myself a deceiver and liar?"

"No Gydrion… But she is undead!"

"What would you have had me do?"

"To have _killed_ the abomination when you first found it!"

"Ah, yes. Great defenders of the innocent are we who kill those who come to us asking for help."

"She does not come for help, but to betray us!"

"You do not know that," Gydrion said firmly. "You have no proof of her intentions that could not also back _her_ claims. I suggest, if you will not trust her, that we devise a way to test her intentions."

"And how do you proposed to do that, Gyrdrion?" the gray-haired paladin asked.

"Back to the question of why she can touch divine light- our only solution was that her elemental heritage shielded her. Thusly, she would not be able to suppress her immunity." They nodded slowly. Gydrion turned, forming a burst of holy light in his hand. "Touch it, will you?" She looked at him a moment and then held her hand in the holy light. "Thank you. Would you suppress your will and emotions for me, like you said you could?" Her eyes whirled slowly and she looked directly at him. Then their whirling slowed and they changed to blander shades. There was a crackling sound, her hand starting to burn. Quickly, Gydrion pulled the light away, revealing her charred fingertips.

"Stop suppressing them." Her eyes widened, turning bright shades of orange and yellow, and she jerked backwards and yelped, jumping and nursing her burnt hand. The priest smiled gently, causing the betrayed look in her eyes to fade, and gently took her hurt hand with his own- the hand that was holding the white flame- further proving that it was the girl's good will mixed in with some unknown quality that allowed her to touch holy flame, not her elemental heritage.

He got more then he had bargained for. All three elders of the Silver Hand stared in stark amazement as the burns sealed, leaving the girl's fingers unscathed.

Healing energy did not work on elementals- only bursts of arcane power could quickly repair them. Slowly, the priest nodded to himself, and then he looked at the two paladins. "There," he said conclusively. "Does that not indicate that perhaps we should give this girl at least one chance? It is clear some quality aside from her simple elemental heritage protects her." The paladins looked gravely at him, each one seeming somewhat older. Then the amber-haired one nodded.

"We will take… her… to Storm wind, then. We can decide what to do with her from there." Gydrion nodded in return.

"Call Thrash, Ket," he said gently to the undead girl. In turn, Ketala nodded. In moments, the girl was pounced upon by the feline. She staggered under the weight of the massive cat, laughing and half-turning to wrap her arms around the animal's neck.

"I am gone for five minutesss, and you already misss me?" she said, chuckling. Her hissing had become more prominent as she relaxed. It was only now evident that she had quickly picked up the human's accent in the short time she had spent among them, dropping the undead hiss from her words. Thrash purred, sitting down and nuzzling against her as she released him, smiling. Then she turned and blinked, seeing the strange expressions on the faces of the paladins and priest.

It occurred to her that they'd never seen an undead smile and laugh before. She shifted lightly, uncomfortable. "Please… don't stare at me," she said after a moment. The two paladins glanced at one another, evidently mystified. Then the gray-haired one nodded and turned around, going off to where their soldiers were camped in order to retrieve the trio's horses. Gydrion came up beside her, having recovered from his initial surprise, and his gentle smile had returned. He stood between her and the other paladin like a shield, and she looked up at him, fidgeting lightly. Being that she was five nine and he was six five, he towered over her.

"Don't run," he assured softly. "It's alright. We are just… unused to seeing the dead so filled with life."

"… Should I not laugh?" she asked, so long familiar with Kel'Thuzad forbidding her from experiencing life's simple joys.

"Laugh all you want." She smiled, her eyes turning a whirling, pleased yellow-green.

"Really?" He nodded, taking the reigns of his horse as the beast was brought up to him.

"Ride alongside me. And be strong- do not expect a warm welcome in Stormwind." Ketala nodded weakly, backing up and climbing onto Thrash's shoulders. With her mind, she reached out to the horses and calmed their fears, making sure that her predatory cat did not frighten them. Then she turned Thrash, and put him into a light 'trot' beside Gydrion's noble steed.

Gydrion was right. Stormwind was _not_ welcoming. The guards at the entrance of the city took long minutes of persuasion to leave the undead girl be, and as they moved through the city, the paladins, priest, and undead child were given a wide berth. But oh, Ketala was not fortunate enough be ignored. Hostile glares built up around them, following them from place to place. A rock was thrown, directly at the girl's head. Her hand snatched said rock and dropped it, an inner instinct telling her that retaliation would invite death. Instead of attacking back, she pushed her cat even closer to Gydrion's horse. Any closer, and the two animals would be leaning on one another.

Perceptive, and having noticed the thrown rock, Gydrion glared out into the crowd. After a moment, he looked softly back down at here. "Be strong," he said softly, and pushed his Book of Light into her hands. Surprised, Ketala blinked and looked up at him. Then, after a long moment, she took the book, holding it reverently. An awkward silence ensued as the crowed hushed, watching her slowly, slowly open the precious tome. She was greeted by beautiful gilded pictures and lettering. Her eyes flashed neon purple, and her fingers scanned over the pictures. Gently, she turned the page, and repeated the procedure. No more rocks were thrown, and the strange group crept slowly toward the castle at the center of the city.

* * *

Zul'vii's Tale...

The Night Elf vessels surrounded the foreign ships. Tyrande Whisperwind, High Priestess of Elune, stood aboard the lead ship, watching the Naga below. Already the aquatic people were murmuring spells and hefting weapons. Her eyes lifted to the deck of the ship and she watched it fill up with fully armored Naga myrmidons and smaller sirens… and, to Tyrande's surprise, high elves wearing blood red armor. Blood Elves? She ordered her ship closer to the leads foreign ship, watching two white peace flags run up the masts of the individual ships. Slowly, the two ships, Tyrande's and the foreigner's, pulled up side-by-side… And then something tapped the High Priestess on the shoulder. Aggravated by the interruption, she looked irritably behind her… and then jumped backwards, nearly slipping off the ship.

"Illidan!" she murmured out, suspicious but pleased. He smiled, violet lips twisting into a realistic smirk. At Tyrande's side, Jaina regarded the Night Elf. He was tall, towering at 10 feet tall. Tyrande, being a giant who hovered just below 8 feet tall, was utterly dwarfed. And Tyrande was tall even for a Night Elf female. Jaina came up to her waist, and only came up to Illidan's upper-thigh. True, Jaina was short, even for a human female, and only around half as tall as Illidan was, but this was getting ridiculous. It was bad enough only coming up to Thrall's chest. She paused a moment and blinked. How did Thrall, the big, powerful, masculine, prideful orc… like only coming up to Tyrande's chest? She almost laughed at the notion, examining this new being, Illidan, further.

He was demonic, that was for certain, and he had dark violet hair and pale violet skin. He was also a demon _hunter_, and had a bandana tied around his sightless eyes. Black wings sprouted from his back. He wore pants over his lightly furred legs, and he sported hooves instead of feet. There were bandages wrapped around his chest, and he was wearing a light, enchanted robe. Beneath these clothes, there were dark violet and blue whirls painted over her skin, vaguely like ruins in shape and feel. He reeked strongly of magic, and Jaina could only guess that he was a Night Elf who had been consumed by addiction to magic.

The Night Elf Guards on the deck, startled that they had been bypassed so easily, turned and trained their bows on him. The demonic Night elf, however, did not seem to mind.

"Greetings, Tyrande," he said, his voice holding an interesting accent… and a suppressed madness, dark and slightly hoarse in quality. "We need something of a favor." The High Priestess recovered her composure, stiffening.

"And what would that favor be, Illidan Stormrage?" Jaina blinked. Stormrage? Related to Furion Stormrage, perhaps? Furion was tall, too, around the same height as Tyrande, though he stooped a bit and Tyrande walked with a proud, upright stature.

"I believe," responded Illidan softly, "that you would call it… A second chance…"

* * *

(Cont.)

The foreign ships docked at Tedrassil. Tyrande waited in the small building beside the docks, her eyes closed in prayer. When she opened them, Illidan was grinning at her, having slipped up next to her without making a sound. She tensed lightly, but gazed back at him unflinchingly.

"Now, would you explain your reasons for returning here, Illidan Stormrage?"

"Yes. But first, where is my brother?" Tyrande tensed up into solid metal.

"Lost in the Emrald Dream. No one can find him- not even the green dragons." Illidan fell silent, his face going impassive. It was the closest he could get to expressing pity for her, or sorrow.

"Ah," he said simply, his voice a bit darker still. "I see." After a moment, he turned, looking behind him. Tyrande followed his gaze to see Kael stride into the room. The elf smiled and waved to her, much of his high-elfin good humor still intact. Behind him was a Naga, who scowled evilly. And then, behind them, emerged a Troll who smiled genuinely in Tyrande's direction.

"A troll?" Tyrande questioned, looking at the green-skinned being with quite some disdain.

"Aye," She said pleasantly. "My name be Zul'vii. I'm the brains of dis operation." Illdidan looked at her. "Well, it _was_ my idea!"

"Who, exactly, are you?" Tyrande said, glaring over at the troll.

"Long story. But to be brief…" She took in a breath. "Kael was convinced by Vashj to help Illidan so his people could all survive and acess magic to boot, at which point all three decided to clear Outland, which is the old home of the orcs and also known as Draenor, of demons, where they discovered and became allies with the Draeni who lived there- however, the demon, Kiljaden, found them and gave Illidan one last chance to kill Arthas or to be committed to eternal suffering, in which case, Illidan, of course, ended up having to go to Icecrown to try and destroy the Litch King, which is the leader of the Scourge now that the demons were defeated, but he was stopped there by Arthas-"

"Arthas?" Tyrande said, trying to get a grip on the conversation. The Troll seemed to know more then she should about all these subjects, and by the way everyone was looking at her, it was clear that _they_ had not been the ones to tell her their story.

"I can tell you who Arthas is," said a voice, and the group looked over to see Jaina Proudmoore walk up, a scowl on her face. "Arthas was the prince of Lordaron. He pursued the Scourge with a mad vengeance, betraying his people in more ways than one in his 'holy' crusade. In the icy kingdoms of the north, he found the demonically corrupted blade, Frostmourne. When he drew the blade, his insanity was completed. He returned to Lordaron and slew his father. He went to Quel'Thalas-" her eyes darted to Kael, who was staring at her wide-eyed, "and he defiled the Sunwell, the magic waters that the High Elves brought from the Well of Eternity, in order to resurrect Kel'Thuzad, a litch. The Kingdom of Lordaron fell, crumbling, and the surviving humanoids fled to Stormwind. I went west to Kalimdor… Led by the prophet… in an effort to save my people."

"Yes, that's pretty much it," Zul'vii said, softer and slower now, looking at Jaina piteously. "He's also the one who convinced Illidan to steal and consume the skull of Gul'Dan, thusly resulting in him currently being ten feet tall and sporting wings and hooves. Anyway, Arthas was going to Icecrown to join with the Litch King- which he's done, by the way. Illidan, Kael, and Vashj challenged him… AND almost won. But they were beaten back- Arthas was receiving the bulk of the Litch-King's power. He was above the peak of his Death Paladin prowess. Illidan made a last ditch effort to keep Arthas from getting into the Icecrown glacier- which resulted in him getting cleaved from waist to shoulder by a demon-blade and left to dye the snow purple. Pun possibly intended. So I and my tribe decided to rush in and attempt to save him, Kael, and Vashj. Needless to say, we succeeded. So I convinced him to come back here because Kel'Thuzad will probably desire to make good on his promise of 'eternal suffering.' " She looked at Illidan. "Did I forget anything?"

"No," he said acidly. "I believe you made everything quite clear." Evidently Illidan did not like to be reminded about how horribly he had failed. His hands were clenched tightly, and he looked desperately like he wanted to throttle the life out of the girl. Tyrande blinked, looking between the two. Jaina lowered her eyes, gazing at the floor, further hurt by Arthas's betrayal. Zul'vii eyed Illidan a moment and then shook her head.

"Geez, sorry," she said, turning and walking out the door. She left the building, snorting and crossing her arms over her chest, walking out of earshot and looking up at the massive branches of the tree stump that appeared to constitute the entire island. After a long, long moment, she heard footsteps, and she turned her head to see the small human female come up beside her.

"Illidan Stormrage- I assume he is related to Furion?" Zul'vii nodded.

"Yes. They are brothers, and quite opposite to one another." Jaina smiled, nodding. Her eyes were a strange neon blue… and she scented of magic in a… a very… very strange fashion… A pure, innocent, uncorrupted fashion. It was unlike anything Zul'vii had ever sensed before, and she felt drawn to this strange little human. "What are you doing in Night Elf lands."

"I teleport, so I can easily come and go as I please. In a raid against demons, my people and horde riders discovered a strange being. I was reporting it to Tyrande, and decided to linger around.

"What kind of being?"

"I best not say. I do not know you well enough." Zul'vii smiled, nodding.

"I understand. So you are the famous Miss Proudmoore?" Jaina blinked, looking up at her.

"Famous?"

"Not many Humans have the courage to stand up in the name of peace."

"How do you know so much?" she asked quickly, turning fully toward Zul'vii. The troll girl smiled lightly.

"To be truthful? I know a seer." Jaina smiled and nodded.

"He must be very powerful."

"Could I ask a favor of you?" Jaina blinked.

"Ask away."

"Could you tell Vol'jin that I am here?" Jaina blinked, taken aback.

"Vol'jin? Why?"

"We are cousins." Jaina's eyes widened. "Besides, Trolls and Elves notoriously hate one another. It would get him to ignore that for awhile to come visit." She grinned evilly.

"I noticed Tyrande did not look so pleased when she saw you. Why does Illidan tolerate you? He doesn't even seem to like you."

"He doesn't, but the wound in his chest doesn't give him a choice. I'm a powerful healer. Without my help, he _will_ die. So he tolerates me. For now at least. He's already tried to kill me…" She counted on her fingers, "three times." Jaina lifted a brow.

"He _really_ doesn't like you." Zul'vii laughed lightly and turned her head, looking behind her.

"No. Expecially because I made him take a massive detour down to Ratchet because I wanted to buy some Horde-related items. He needed it though. He was really very weak, and he needed the time to recover. Look. Someone's looking for one of us." Kael hopped out of the building, looking over at them. He smiled lightly and strode over to them, nodding gently to Zul'vii before turning his attention to Jaina Proudmoore.

"Princess Jaina Proudmoore," he said, coming up to her and smiling, rather bewildered, down at her.

"Prince Kael'Thalas Sunstrider. You're a face I had not counted on seeing again." Kael nodded.

"The same for you." Zul'vii blinked and tilted her head to the side.

"Wait a minute…" Kael blinked, looking at Zul'vii, who was grinning lightly. "Wasn't Arthas trying to get on your nerves during the battle with something about you still being upset that he got Jaina?" Both Jaina and Kael blinked, blushing, and Zul'vii giggled. "Cheer up, Kael. Cheer up, Jaina. We'll win one day."

* * *

"We can lend you wisps in order that you need not damage the forest for wood," Tyrande said after a moment of watching the camp slowly go up. Illidan nodded, subconsciously lifting a hand and touching the bandage across his chest. Tyrande looked over at him and blinked, concerned. "Does it still pain you?" Illidan tilted his head toward her. "Come, let us see if the druids can do anything to finish the healing," she said, smiling gently. Surprisingly, Illidan shook his head quickly. 

"No… I need merely find Zul'vii."

"If the troll has not succeeded in healing the wound completely so far-"

"Then there is certainly nothing your druids can do," he said, finishing the statement differently then she had intended. Tyrande blinked, taken aback, watching him slowly head down to camp.

"… Why do you have such faith in her abilities? She saved you- and that is to her credit- but she still is only a simple troll-"

"No. She is far different," he said softly, heading toward the camp. Tyrande shook her head and followed. As they neared the tents, Zul'vii appeared, grinning with that silly smile, and coming up to him. He 'looked' down at her.

"You feeling alright?" she asked. He snorted and went to move past her. She laughed, lifting up a hand and gently touched his chest. He stiffened, looking down at her darkly. She smiled gently and fed healing Life into him. The darkness faded into neutral blankness, his shoulders slowly relaxing. She smiled, gently pulling back the layers of bandage till the thick scar was visible. He hissed out, stiffening sharply. Her fingers gently touched the puckered tissue and he gave a sharp hiss as the pain was soothed and the wound filled with life. Lightly he lowered his head, his expression slowly relaxing. "You're tired," she murmured, stoking his shoulder. He shorted, shrugging her hand off and turned around, stalking off. She smiled, jogging after him and smiling. "Illidan!" she said playfully. He jerked to a stop and glared down at her sightlessly. She blinked, surprized slightly. "... What's wrong? Is it about how I told the story?" He snarled.

"Of course not? What would tell you that?" he spat out bitterly.

"Illidan! You're hurt!" she reached out again, putting her hand to his shoulder. Violently, he whipped around, and pushed her away. He glared at her a moment before turning and starting off again.

Zul'vii's eyes flamed as she watched Tyrande approach her.

"Troll, though we are grateful to you for Illidan's life, I doubt you are necessary any longer," she said with some disdain. "Besides… Illidan doesn't seem to like you. Why do you linger here when you could be anywhere else?" The Troll girl stiffened, glaring at Tyrande a long, long moment.

"You are a narrow-minded idiot," she said sharply. Tyrande's eyes burned and she whipped around, glaring right at the girl, her hands tightening into fists…

When she suddenly noticed the toad perched on the girl's shoulder. For a moment she was curious. For another moment she was angry beyond belief. And then, slowly, the anger and curiosity melted into a bizarre sort of understanding. Zenn Foulhoof. Last she had seen, MahiMahi had picked up the toad, depositing it in a pouch at her waist. MahiMahi had released the toad for some reason- and now that reason was evident. This was her subtle signal and clue, a message that stated, 'this is one favored by my god. Trust her- she is a force of great good in this world'. Her mind flashed quickly over all Mahi had done and said, and she was left with one result. This troll, this strange being, was either Curiato or Trua… A divinely blessed being. After a long, long moment, Tyrande whirled, turning away from her and stalking off. Zul'vii snorted, scanning the camp quickly with her eyes, and found Illidan nowhere in sight. With mild curses, she sprinted off, searching for the elusive demon hunter. She found Illidan in his tent, leaning against the support beam. He was in pain. Sympathetically, she stepped toward him, but he whipped around, glaring sightlessly down at her, daring her to come near him. She paused, blinking in confusion.

"Do not pity me," he growled out. "Leave. Permanently." She froze, watching even more anger and tension build up in him.

"You're not saying what _you_ want, Illidan," She said slowly, coming up to him.

"WHO ARE YOU TO DICTATE MY THOUGHTS?" he snapped out, practically roaring the words.

"Illidan, please, stop listening to your instincts-"

He laughed, and one of his legs shot out, kicking her brutally into the support beam and almost cracking it.

"Instincts are something a demon hunter must always be in tune with."

"A demon hunter should be in tune with the instincts of a hunter- not of the demon he hunts!" She watched him darken visibly, his fists immolating lightly with green flame. "Illidan, stop it," she hissed out, glaring up at him. He broke

He broke his temper, his constraints, and his sanity. He screamed, rushing at her, drawing out both war blades.

This time she was not passive. Twin axes met his war blades, countering his blows. She moved fast- fast enough to be an orc blade-master or a demon hunter herself- for she was so young. If only she had the discipline to hunt and kill. If only she were not a healer.

He was weak with agony. A particularly rough blow jarred his chest, making him shriek with pain. She never even paused, pummeling at him, repeatedly, over and over again until he was on his knees, desperately shoving his blades against hers. He shook lightly under the strain, muscles tightening up into threads of iron.

"Illidan," she said demandingly. He looked directly at her, lips sneering. "Illidan, it's just me. It's just Zul'vii…"

"Whore!" He screamed, pulling back one blade and whipping it at her head. She countered, her blow jarring the blade from his weakened fingers. A knee blow to his jaw sent him sprawling backwards, and a blow to his other hand caused him to release the other blade. He twitched once, violently, reaching up and clutching his chest.

He'd been a fool. A fool to fight her when he was so weak and helpless.

Mayhap he'd needed to take out his anger on something soft, breakable, but indestructible. He'd not expected her to fight back. He choked weakly, snorting blood from his lips and nose. An axe touched his throat, brushing over it, and he jerked his head back away from it, face pale and sweating. There as a moment of still pain, and then the blade was gone. Two arms peeled him from the ground and he shuddered violently, clinging to the girl, pawing at her almost, snorting and choking out blood. He was blind- not even his spectral sight working. But no animal truly needs sight. He could smell her, smell her sweat… smell leather armor and the stains of blood… the smell of iron mail and iron plates. Her care, her lack of fear. Shuddering violently, he clung to her, moaning as she turned him stomach down to make sure he did not suffocate on his own blood. His face stretched in pain as she touched his wound and he gave a feral scream, life shuttling into him.

And then, suddenly, something grabbed hold of his arm, yanking him away from the healer. "How _DARE _you?" came a Night Elf scream. Blindly, Illidan lashed out, throwing the Night Elf into a wall, and he collapsed, shuddering weakly. His savior picked him up again, cradling him, soothing his pain. Slowly, he relaxed in her arms, his pained face lapsing into calm repose. Tyrande, the elf that had tried to intervene, looked down at the two in mute surprise.

"There… It's alright… It's alright Illidan, it's just me… You're friend…" He quivered weakly at Zul'vii's coaxing.

"…Stupid… Annoying… Girl…" he murmured. She snorted and he laughed weakly, clinging to her tightly as threads of white and green energy filled up the gaping void in his chest. A cloth gently dabbed the violet blood from his lips, and a hand gently stroked his back and hair.

Illidan stirred lightly. He moaned, feeling pain in every limb, including his head. He heard voices hush near him. A moment later, a familiar presence was beside him, gently dabbing his forehead with a warm rag.

"Tyrande…?"

"Try again."

"Zul'vii…" he murmured.

"You've got a slight fever. Does your head hurt?"

"…Yes…" She nodded, and he felt the similar white flame rush gently through his mind, soothing irregularities and pains. "… A pity…"

"What is?"

"If you were a male elf… you'd made a stunning demon hunter." She laughed lightly, stroking his hair.

"I don't know. I don't think I could be prideful or obsessive enough to be a demon hunter." He grunted. "You sometimes talk in your sleep, do you know that?" His ears perked up lightly to show that he was listening. "There are only three names on your lips. Maive. Arthas. And more often then not, Tyrande." He tilted his head to the side, casting his spectral sight up at her, and seeing the familiar, tainting white aura. "You must really love her, huh?"

"… Yes…"

"…I won't ask any more about that. I was just curious."

"You always are." She laughed softly. "Who were you talking to?"

"Tyrande, Vashj, Kael. Everyone gets really worried about you."

"Touched." She laughed again.

"So why is your hair dark purple? Your brother's is green. I'm not well versed on night elf hair, but I'm pretty sure those are like polar opposites."

"A few people in my bloodline had violet hair- the predominant color was green." She nodded. "Zul'vii?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry…"

"It's okay. You can't help it. You're you."

Not, 'You're demonic'. Not, 'You're manipulated'. Not, 'I'm an angel.' 'You're you.' Not anything else- just Illidan.

"I shouldn't have attacked you. Though, I admit, I didn't think you'd fight back."

"Even we Zul'vii's lose our tempers once in awhile." He smiled.

"I need you…"

"I know. I'm here." She gently picked up his face and kissed him on the nose. "I won't leave you." Tyrande was silent, watching Zul'vii gently cradle Illidan and soothe him back into slumber. She had made a misjudgment. The Troll was indeed a servant of MahiMahi's god… And she was far more powerful then Tyrande had imagined. She might save more of Illidan… then simply his life from Frostmourne's power.

* * *

Jaina sighed, stepping out of the teleport and looking around. Cairned turned his massive head and smiled lightly at her. "You return quickly." 

"Yes," Jaina said, nodding. "Tyrande has offered to come- but things got more complicated. There's a new army in Kalimdor- ones that are possible allies to both Horde and Alliance. Cairne lifted a brow.

"A new army?" said Thrall from behind her, and she turned to look at him, nodding. "Many of them are deeply devoted to magic… But… they came here to escape the demons." Thrall's brow furrowed in worry. "They're led by one who is cursed as a half-demon by the skull of Gul'dan himself," she continued grimly. "He is Malfurion's brother."

"This is grave news indeed. I am not sure what to make of it."

"I know. But there may be a chance that we can make a better judgment on what to do about this. Where is Vol'jin? I have a message for him." Thrall blinked

"Vol'jin? He's outside, speaking with the Tauran weapon's master. Who is it that asked you deliver the message?"

"Someone who accompanies the group. She's the only reason I'd be willing to trust them."

"She…?" Jaina strode out of Cairne's home, looking around. She found the Troll bidding farewell to the weapon master. He turned, looking back at the hut, and blinked as he saw her.

"Vol'jin! Are you busy?" He shook his head, his lips creasing in a smile around his prominent tusks.

"No, my business just be finished, miss. What can ole' Vol'jin do for you?"

"I have a message for you from the Elfin lands." He blinked, lifting a brow.

"From the elf lands…?"

"Yes. Recently some foreigners showed up. Among them was a peculiar troll who asked that I bring you a message."

"A troll? In night elf lands?"

"Yes. She said to tell you that she was here in Kalimdor. Her name was Zul'vii." Vol'jin's eyes flew open wide. He lost all composure, staring at Jaina Proudmoore.

"…_Zul'vii_…?"

"Who IS this mysterious person?" Thrall asked, irritated that he was left out of the loop.

"Zul'vii… My kid-cousin," Vol'jin breathed.

"She's not much of a kid anymore," Jaina said, smiling. "She's taller then Tyrande. She'd tower over poor Thrall here." Vol'jin smiled, emotion flushing his face. "Anyway, she made a joke about she being the only thing that could get you into Night Elf lands for once." He laughed lightly, nodding.

"Who are the other foreigners? The same strange tribe she's been accumulating?"

"Some of them. The others are a mixture. Naga and High Elves, lead by Malfurion's brother- Illidan. Illidan is partially demonic. To get that way, he consumed the powers of the skull of Gul'Dan the betrayer. So Thrall and I are a bit confused on whether to trust them." Vol'jin's brow furrowed.

"Zul'vii knows what she be doin. I don't know why she be with magic users- she hates evil. But she knows what she be doin. She'd not be helping him unless good be commin of it."

"How do you know that?" Thrall asked skeptically. "It sounds like you haven't seen her in a long time." Vol'jin smiled.

"Because she be half elf-angel, Thrall. Half troll, half elf-angel. If she wants to be good, she stay dat way witout being corrupted by demons." Thrall blinked, surprised. "Jaina. Can we visit the elves?" the troll asked, his words being ones he'd never though he'd say.

"Yes," she said with a smile. "Let's find out more about these foreigners. It's always good to know who is enemy and who is friend." Thrall looked at both of them in bewilderment, not really sure what had just happened. Then he shrugged, nodding, and he waited. Vol'jin smiled, coming up to Jaina and nodding his head to the small human in thanks. Jaina just grinned, channeling her magic through the air around them.

* * *

Sylvanis's Tale...

Sylvanis lifted her eyes as a banshee dashed into the room, bowing low. Her skin was blue, and she wore real clothes, her legs almost solid. She was almost at the rank of power where she could become a ranger. "Report?" The banshee stood quickly.

"We were conducting a raid on humans that were too close to our land. We managed to possess several men and were moving in to take out their leaders… when we were suddenly attacked by an undead!" Sylvanis snorted.

"How many?" she asked with a bored tone.

"_An _undead, My Lady… Only one." Sylvanis blinked, looking hard at the banshee.

"She was… she was helping the humans! And her swords- she wielded holy flame swords… She was a methodical killer- using every appropriate attack and block to her maximum advantage… Like a machine. And when she stabbed the men-" The banshee swallowed dryly, a habit from life. "She _purged_ them, Lady Sylvanis… When she hit them, she purged the banshees from them. I charmed a man myself, and she didn't even see it. She just turned around and hit him, purging the effects of the charm. It was like she knew I'd done it, even though she hadn't even seen or heard anything. Like she could sense it." Sylvanis lifted a brow, glancing over at Varimathras. He was just as clueless. "… Where has she gone?" the Banshee Queen asked.

"To Stormwind, milady. She had a conference with a few paladin and then went into Stormwind. I couldn't get close enough to hear anything that went on. Her cat smelled me."

"Cat?"

"Yes, mistress. She rode on a Nightsaber Panther, the kind that the Kaledorai (Night Elves) ride. The kind our people used to ride in the ancient times." Sylvanis went silent, stroking her chin.

"Varimathras. We have spies in Stormwind, correct?"

"Yes My Lady."

"See to it they find out what's happened to this undead."

"Yes, Dark Lady," he said, nodding his head. She turned and looked at the banshee.

"You are dismissed. Vengeance shall come for the death of your sisters in some form." The banshee nodded, bowing and turning, walking off. Sylvanis turned her head and looked at Varimathras.

"What are Nigthsaber Panthers my lady? I know much of the night elves, but I only know that the sentinels use them as mounts."

"They are panthers deeply tied with the powers of nature and possessing small sentience. They would never willingly aid an undead- we are the opposite of life." Varimathras nodded slowly.

"So why do you think she rides one?"

"That's what I'm eager to find out." He wrote something out on some paper and then handed it to a guard. When the make-shift messenger had left, Sylvanis came up beside Varimathras, lifting a hand and gently stroking his cheek. He let her, his eyes closing. The dread-lord was, by no means, pleasant to look at. To a human, he would certainly qualify as ugly. But Sylvanis seemed not to mind, leaning lightly against the demon. One of his arms moved gently around her, more to keep her happy then out of affection. He had quickly learned the rules of how to keep the furious banshee-ranger happy.

Give her comfort. Give her an embrace. Give her something to insult and speak with. Give her something loyal. Do these things, and you shall live a long, promising life. On a side note: never get more affectionate than that. Fail in the slightest with the loyalty aspect, and you shall end up a charred smear in a dungeon somewhere remote and unheard of. Fail with any other aspect and you will have your horns forcibly removed.

Speaking of which, circumstances had dictated that one of his horns be cut down four inches shorter than the other.

He could not blame her, strangely enough, and he wondered idelly why he had this lack of hatred. It was not charecteristic of him. Before, he had respected... be always loathed... the Dark Lady. Still, it was a wonder she was not yet completely insane. Her temper could be dealt with, and generally forced humbleness and reassuring words would calm her.


	11. Flowers and the White Rose

Isn't it Ironic that the shortest chapter so far took me the longest time to write? Sorry folks, but I have an explanation. See, I'm trying to say everything I want to say, without bogging to much down into a soap opera atmosphere between Zul'vii and Illidan. I'm trying to keep the story moving. Ketala, however, is zooming right ahead, so I hope you enjoy her tale if you find our soap opera overwhelming.

And now, I must yell at you. I am saddened by the lack of reviews. So I have these choice words to say: Augwoo, Fwap, and Sildernay. Thank you Albus Dumbledore!

Now to thanking actual people. Thank you to **Shietan** and **AzureDragoness** in specific.When I recieve reviews like yours, I immediately set to writing. I am only sorry that I could not satisfy my normal chapter length averaging around 7000 words in order to please miss Dragoness. I have, instead, around 6000, and I hope you enjoy them, for they took some effort. It seems that the middle of any story is the hardest to write. Dont worry! Soon, Zul'vii and Illidan will adopt a focus and a goal, and their story can start moving again! Thanks to **Everyone else I might have forgotten, and I)void **(Just spell your name with a D, since the ')' wont show up :P )

Fear my uber title.

* * *

**Flowers**

**

* * *

**

Again, Ketala zoned out, allowing Gydrion and the other paladins to defend her. Last time that she had tried to help herself, she had made a terrible blunder by mentioning that she had primitive telepathic powers. They knew better than her what could save her and what would damn her. But something caused Ketala to twitch, long minutes into the conversation, and she looked around. A man had just approached the entry hall, a pleasant but curious smile on his face as he examined her with curiosity. Hungry curiosity. She referenced Thrash and confirmed her suspicions. Her eyes whirled lightly with red. Too naïve to consider her actions, she drew out a scimitar- to the outraged cries of the other people in the hall- and breathed the magic words, hurling the scimitar at the smiling man. His eyes widened as the blade skipped over his collar bone, cutting into it and nicking his ear. Violet energy pulsed from the wound, and he screamed. The scream moved into a shrill banshee cry as the man's possessor was flung out of her mortal host.

It took a moment of shocked stupor before the paladins finished off the monster. The room turned back to Ketala, the King's Protector eyeing her darkly. She was surrounded by guards, all of them holding blades against her. Ketala merely gazed around mutely, seeming to be wondering what she had done wrong. She was so innocent- so Naïve. The King's Protector called for them to stand down, and they obeyed after initial hesitation. Gydrion frowned lightly at the guards, gently reaching forward dand taking Ketala's hand, pulling her to his side. Ketala merely looked up at him in bewilderment.

"He was possessed…" she murmured in confusion. Gydrion nodded sympathetically, patting her hand.

"You startled us." Her eyes turned a pastel yellow and she lowered her head again, listening to the debate slowly continue. Her eyes shifted and she looked at the wounded man. He was being examined by several paladins, who found that he seemed to be recovering. This incurred much curiosity. It was asked if she had done anything like this before. The answer was that yes- she had fought off 6 banshees and reversed several possessions. No mention was made of her telepathic powers or her ability to control undead. It was only allowed to be known that she could call animals to her aid.

The paladins wanted to make it seem that she was innocent- a patron of good, an emblem of nature. They spoke on and on, objections against her slowly lessening. They quoted the very books they all carried, used examples from distant scenarios. But always, there was that one, defining factor. Ketala was undead. She was unnatural. She was the creation of demons and of the Scourge.

"Ketala!" Everyone turned to see Therian standing there. He blinked, falling silent, and blushing lightly. Beside him was Locke, who was looking at them amicably. Ketala lifted her head lightly and looked at the blood elf. She smiled, glanced at the guards, and then walked up to him. Everyone tensed, not sure of what to say or do, whether to prevent her or not. She came up to the blood elf and smiled.

"Hello Therian. You feeling better?"

"Yeah… Damn Banshee, I couldn't walk till this morning."

"What are you doing here?"

"Report to deliver… What are you doing here?" She turned her head and looked back at all the hostile and curious stares.

"The priest who isn't looking at me like I am Scourge convinced me to come instead of running away. I think he was afraid someone… less noble would find me if he didn't bring me here and ask that I'd be accepted."

"Like who?"

"Leader of rebel undead group. What are they called again? Forasken? Sounds morbid."

"Yes well, they are rather dead. And so are you."

"Doesn't mean I have to be morbid…"

"Come now, what is one characteristic about you that doesn't make you morbid?"

"… I can laugh. And I like flowers." He arched a brow.

"Flowers…?"

"What, something wrong with that?"

"Can you smell them?"

"I have a nose, don't I? Besides. They're pretty."

"Commander Locke," the King's Protector said suddenly.

"My Lord?" he asked pleasantly, moving past Therian and Ketala. The Protector weighed his options a moment, and then continued.

"What do you have to report?"

"We succeeded, but…" he looked back at Ketala, "we would not have made it back without her help. The battle Othen- and thus Gyrdion, as I see he is the one defending her- never learned about, the battle where we first encountered Ketala, involved around twenty abominations. She, on her own, took down ten." The whole crowed fell awkwardly silent. Even the young king and his protector stared silently down at Ketala.

"…What?" Ketala asked, bewildered, looking up at everyone innocently.

* * *

"Killed?" Sylvanis asked curiously. "You are sure? How?" 

"Apparently, the undead killed her. The moment the banshee stepped into the room, the undead looked at her. Moments later, the undead pulled out a scimitar, murmured some words, and hurled it at the banshee. It barely cut her… but her spirit was thrown out of the body, confused and powerless," replied Varimathras.

"Who reported this?"

"An undead seer, using far-sight. When we went to verify this, the banshee was, in fact, dead."

"… There is something much more to this creature… I want you to watch it. Find out what happens to it. If the humans decide to cast it out… we can provide, oh… 'sanctuary.'"

* * *

Her white cloak was wrapped tightly around her, hiding her feminine, undead, elemental features. White made a good impression on people- it reminded them of purity and of the light. Ketala sat on the stone wall surrounding the practice court for young paladin. The initiates currently on the court were going through basic sword movements. After some time, the elder, amber haired paladin before, a man by the name of Ander, organized them into pairs and had them square off against each other. 

It did not take long for him to show his dissatisfaction, and he separated them again, lifting a hand to his chin and rubbing his beard. Then he turned, looking up to the top of the wall.

"Ket?" She perked up. "Come down here. I want you to demonstrate something for me." Ketala blinked, hesitating a moment. Then she dropped off the wall, landing in a crouched position. She stood with simple grace, and went up to Ander, and she lowered her head respectfully. "You are ambidextrous, correct?"

"Define 'ambidextrous,' Elder?"

"Capable of using both hands with equal skill."

"Yes."

"We are examining the basics of two-weapon fighting. A true knight must know all styles of combat." Ketala chuckled under her breath, drawing out both of her blades. Ander smiled. "They do not appreciate the finesse of the art, especially young Reldin here. The tactics I recommend are of particular distaste to them, and Reldin is of the opinion that only an idiot who cares nothing for his own well-being fights with two weapons. Would you demonstrate to him the advantages of discarding the shield in favor of the blade?"

"I would, happily," she said, nodding her head. Relden eyed Ander as if he thought the elder paladin was mad. Then he dropped one of the blades he was holding, and went over to his own shield, picking it up. He returned to Ander and the cloaked female, taking a fighting stance. "Are you two ready?" Both combatants nodded.

Within 30 seconds, a blade dove artfully beneath Relden's shield, the blunt and smacking him soundly on the thigh. Ketala laughed, jumping backwards. Enraged, the paladin initiate tried to shield bash her. Ketala dropped, sweeping the paladin's legs out from under him and throwing him to the side. Then she sat up, shoving her body between him and his shield. One of her scimitars pinned his blade to the ground. The other was shoved to his throat.

In seconds, Ketala had rendered her opponent prone and helpless. He blinked, stunned, but Ander roared with laughter, clapping his hands.

"Good job, Ketala! That will show them. Come now, let him up." Ketala smiled inwardly, proud she had pleased the red-haired paladin, and she stood up easily, pushing the initiate's shield out of the way. She sheathed both her weapons and bowed her head respectfully to Ander… At which point Relden charged at her, screaming. She blinked and grabbed his sword arm, snapping his wrist. His eyes widened and he screamed as she drew his hand down to hit the shield. The sword popped from his grip and she released him, watching him stumble backwards, dropping his shield and clutching his arm. Ander frowned, coming up to the boy. He glared down at him for a full half-a-minute before sending the boy to the hospice. Then he turned around and came up to Ketala.

"… Go to your rooms Ketala…" She blinked, taken aback, and lowered her head, turning and heading back toward the main complex of the temple. "Ketala." She paused, looking back at him. "You did good." She brightened a bit beneath her hood, and then hurried off.

Ketala had been allowed to remain in Stormwind, safe from the outside world. As part of the deal, she was to be kept in the temple grounds at all times. This not only protected her from the people of Stormwind, but insured that she was under the watchful eye of the paladin elders. She was kept out of trouble and kept among those with the highest moral standards, in order that her own goodness would be preserved.

She had not, however, been given much more. She had rather spacious rooms, free food and lodging for Thrash, and a home, but she was not trained in the arts of the paladin. Gydrion was the only one who furthered her education. He had not only fulfilled his promise to teach her to read, but had completely drowned her in books. She could recite great literary works, history books, and the Tome of Light from cover to cover. He had brought her books on the elemental forces, sorcery, tactics and strategy, naval combat. He brought her books on every subject and theme, fearing that, in her hunger for knowledge, she would become the first person to consume the wealth of information contained in the mage and paladin libraries.

When Gyrdion was out of town, and there was no one to bring her reading material, she stayed out watching Ander train the initiates. She never felt welcomed to participate, but she could at least hear the knowledge that the elder paladin issued forth, and she absorbed it into her current knowledge of combat. It had pleased her beyond measure to have done well in his sight.

Perhaps one day, he would let her join in the exercises.

* * *

Vol'jin was uncharacteristically silent as the mass portal subsided. Jaina had used a glade in Tedrassil near Darnassus for spell casting. When she had left, the various leaders, Tyrande, Kael, Vashj, and Illidan were discussing where to place their forces to be equally secure and effective. Now they were still discussing, sitting in a circle and eating a fair banquet for lunch. 

"High Priestess Tyrande," Jaina said with a light nod of her head. The others glanced in their direction, a few tensing a bit at the sight of the troll. Vol'jin did not return their hostile stares, his eyes instead moving to the being sitting between Illidan and Kael.

"Cousin!" Zul'vii gasped, jumping up and nimbly sprinting over to them, throwing her arms around the Darkspear leader. He caught her, laughing lightly.

"Zul'vii- can dis be you! By the spirits, you've grown! You were but 6-foot last time I be seeing you!"

"And you look well over a hundred!" He threw his head back in a laugh before smiling gently down at her.

"Low blow!" he said with a smile. "And what is dis I hear? Demons and Elves? I should have known." She chuckled lightly, looking back at the others.

"Illidan, Tyrande. This is my cousin, Vol'jin. I promptly assure you he will lose a tusk if he causes any trouble. Please pardon his presence." Tyrande nodded lightly as Vol'jin chuckled. Then the High Priestess looked at Thrall and Jaina.

"Warchief Thrall, I am glad you were able to come. This certainly concerns you." He nodded, bowing lightly, graceful for one of his race. "Join us for lunch- there is much to discuss." Thrall glanced at Illidan a bit uncomfortably.

"I must have a question answered first. It is the skull of Guldan that consumed to gain your demonic powers?" Illidan was blind, Thrall saw. Judging by the bandana and the two massive war blades, he was once a demonhunter. But he 'looked' directly at Thrall and nodded slowly. "He is the one who betrayed our race to the Burning Legion and resulted in the second invasion. He replaced Ner'zhul, who had enough strength to try and preserve his people." Illidan stiffened.

"The Litch King?"

"The same. He was an orc once, until the demons destroyed him."

"How do you know this?"

"I am a seer and a shaman. I am close to the spirits." Illidan turned his 'gaze' to Zul'vii, and she nodded.

"But don't add that to his conscious," she continued. "He's already sour enough to begin with." Illidan sneered lightly as she guiding Vol'jin to sit beside her and Jaina- _Away_ from Illidan. She giggled, shoving a flower into the troll's hair as he protested, play-fighting against her.

The rest of the meeting proceeded well. Fortifications were decided, temporary cease-fires and truces drawn up. In fact, the meeting was quite peaceful. The Naga did not insult the Night Elves. The Orc did not argue with the Demon. The Human did not bring up powers back at home that would be unhappy with her.

It took half a week for the negotiations to truly then, and Vol'jin, regrettably, had to leave. He had first hand been able to watch Thrall's eyes open in amazement as Zul'vii tested the skill for which her bloodline was most well-known; Zul'vii had displayed her ability with throwing axes. The beautifully crafted tomahawks flew from her hands with grace and skill. With one hand, Vol'jinn had tossed a handful of coins in the air in front of a wall. Every single coin was found pinned to the building's wall, mostly cleaved in half, or in two pieces on the ground. But then, regrettably, the time came to part. Vol'jin had to return to his people…And so he asked of her…

That she return to Durotar with him.

Illidan was silent, watching Zul'vii come up to him, a smile appearing on her face. They were outside his tent, not a soul around. "Hey, Illidan," she greeted, happy as always. The demonhunter just stared at her, neither responding nor rebuking. She paused a moment, eyeing him. "My cousin has asked I return to Durotar with him. It has been a long time since we've seen each other. I came to tell you I'd probably leave."

"Oh?" murmured Illidan darkly, sarcastically. She blinked, staring up at him.

"Illidan…? What's wrong…?" His mouth twisted into a dark, demonic smile.

"With myself? What makes you think something is wrong?" he asked in the same insane tone, a mock-innocent sarcastic tone lacing his words. She blinked, confused. Then her eyes widened. Gently, she reached forward, stepping into his personal space and touching the bandage. Illidan stiffened and Zul'vii sighed out weakly.

"I'm so sorry, Illidan… I… Some healer I am…" He shuddered violently as she pulled back the bandage, seeing how deep and putrid the wound had become. She lifted her hands, placing them against the wound. His teeth clamped together violently, biting back on a brutal scream. All that he managed was a hiss as life shoved back into him, replenishing him, soothing him. He gave a small convulsion, forcing himself to remain standing and awake, even though his body was in agony.

"You… are… cruel…" he grit out.

"Forgive me… I was so happy, I forgot about everything else that really mattered…"

"A weakness… time will curb…" She looked up at him and then slowly put her arms around his waist, flowing her energy into him still. His head jerked up a bit and then he folded down into her arms. She caught him, remorse in her eyes.

"I'm sorry."

"Stupid… Annoying… Girl…" he grunted out, his wings limply hanging and dragging on the ground. From a few tents away, Jaina Proudmoore emerged… and blinked, staring at the two.

"I'm so sorry Illidan… I didn't mean to abandon you like that…" It was a horrible crushing thing to his ego and pride…

Two things Illidan had always had plenty of.

But he swallowed back his hateful comments. Because Illidan was not quite in as bad condition as he seemed. He had… intensified his haggard appearance… As long as he was weak, Zul'vii couldn't leave…

The two combatants fought back to back. Both whirled with the grace of the wind, their respective weapons hacking everything that came within reach. Together, they sliced through the felhounds, tearing off their magic draining tendrils and quickly putting blades through their heads and torsos. The felhounds done with, they turned as one, as mirror images of one another, and charged at the small Pit Lord in the center of the army. The monster roared, twirling its pole arm with surprising demonic speed.

The Pit Lord never stood a chance. Various blades put out its eyes, other ones rending open its neck. Its armor was hacked off, its underbelly exposed. Blades carved along these soft openings, spilling hot, fiery blood to the ground. The Pit Lord stumbled, roaring, casting all the magic it could at them in the force of the fireballs… One of the combatants countered easily, flinging the flame back with a wall of force. The balls turned around and slammed into the behemoth, frying it. There, the small Pit Lord groaned, staggering violently. A tomahawk caught it between the eyes, and a ball of frost hit it in the back of the head. Both projectiles caused a violent impact in the creature's head, bone shattering with sickening cracks. With this done, the demon stumbled, shrieking out its defiance, and then collapsed.

"Deflecting spell? I am teaching you something," said one combatant. "A shield instead of a weapon." The other combatant grinned impishly, and the body exploded, soaking both of them in hot gore. The first combatant didn't speak for a moment, and then sighed. She lifted a hand, and the other combatant gripped it in a sign of comradeship. They released and started moving back toward their makeshift town. Demonhunter and Troll walked side by side, silent. But the Demonhunter couldn't help from grinning. The Troll, noticing this, glared at him… And thusly, caused him to throw his head back and burst out laughing. She continued to glare at him a moment before starting to chuckle, and soon both were snickering quietly, like children who shared part in the same mischievous prank. The wound through The Demonhunter's chest and shoulder had all but vanished, leaving a thin, dark violet scar on his otherwise pale skin. Beside him, Zul'vii was much the same. Much time had passed since the pair had relocated to Felwood and Darkshore. Naga outposts on the water circled the continent, gathering up all they stray Naga along the shores… and either assimilating them into their forces, or destroying them, depending on the wiliness of the wild Naga. This lifted burdens from trade and travel, allowing a more ready path between Durotar and the Dustwallow Marsh- and thus from Orgimmar to Theramore, and from Ratchet to the world around. Trade was beginning to flourish again, as Illidan, Zul'vii, and Kael pushed through the demonic forces in Felwood. As they walked, Illidan 'looked' over at his traveling companion.

"Zul'vii?" he inquired.

"Aye?"

"Ah, so now you are part dwarf?"

"It's not your problem if I decide I like saying 'aye'." He chuckled lightly, stopping by a stream and kneeling beside it. She plopped down on a rock, watching him examine the water with his spectral sight before deeming it safe to drink. He cupped his hands in it, lifting it to his face, and splashed it over his countenance. Then he lifted some to his mouth and drank thirstily.

"Illidan?"

"Yes?"

"What is it you were about to ask me when you were so perturbed by me using the word 'aye'?" He smirked, wiping his mouth with his forearm.

"Teach me to fly."

"Oh? Is that an order?" He glanced up at her.

"A request." She smiled and came up beside him. He went still as she took his left wing, examining.

"… Alright… But you might not like my methods." His brows arched in curiosity.

"Indeed?" She grinned, pulling off her armor and spreading out her wings through her leather shirt. The golden tendrils spread out farther then she was tall… and then retracted.

"I'm not sure if your wingspan is large enough… but we'll find out." She smirked, dropping the torso armor… And then she quickly leaned over, seizing him around the waist and shoving him down a bit. He hissed, startled. Before he could complain further, she pushed off the ground with her feet, her wings splitting out and giving a powerful beat. They lifted into the air, the massive gold wings lifting and falling with quick, powerful strokes. The demonhunter gave a small, uncharacteristic gasp, clutching one of her arms tightly. He was larger than her, in mass and height, but the extra weight did not seem too much of a burden on her. "Wait until I tell you to spread your wings. Hug them to your sides now." He nodded, holding his wings tight against him. The wings beat more furiously, pulling them up into the air. He felt power passing through her… and then they sailed further up into the air, heading further up… and up… The clouds were fog, rumbling lightly with concealed lightning… They passed through the fog, rising above the clouds, traveling fast enough to keep their legs in line behind them. "Now..." she said softly. "Open your wings." He obeyed, the dark violet appendages spread out and catching the air. The sensation was unfamiliar to him and he gasped, feeling the strain as they jerked up a bit higher into the air. He felt the golden tendrils lower somewhat to his own wings, and they descended a bit, the burden falling on his wings to keep them in the air. The tendrils twined around his wings, molding to their shape and strengthening them… And then, carefully, she manipulated his wings into giving a powerful beat, drawing them down, up against Illidan and herself, and then extending them out again. The motion was much like swimming, and quickly Illidan caught the concept. After some time, she lifted her wings again, and their extra limbs beat as one, carrying them through the air with startling speed. "Now…" she said after a moment… "We move." Her wings touched his again, molding them properly, and the two went into a dive, going even faster. The demonhunter shuddered at the rush of the wind. He was evidently thoroughly enjoying this- and for Illidan, that was rare. The wings moved again, and they carefully evened out the dive… with a rush of strain and exhilaration, they curved and headed upward again… and leveled out once more… They tilted to the side, going into a lazy helix, and then they tilted to the other…

And then, suddenly, Zul'vii released him. Illidan gave a startled sound, falling down and backwards.

"Come on, Illidan! Move your wings!" The near-freefall caused extreme discomfort in the demonhunter, but he beat his wings rapidly, slowly, slowly catching the air and preventing his fall. Zul'vii arched around, coming back toward him. She flew past him, curved around again, and then came up beside him. "There… you're doing fine…"

"I'm not used to this!"

"Don't worry. I'll catch you if you fall." She tilted toward him, flying closer, and firmly grabbed his hand. "I swear." He tilted his head toward her. "Now, we have to get back. Dive with me, so we can see where we are." He made an unpleasant expression, but tilted downwards as she did, carefully breaking his own dive. Their town was visible, not that far away, and so they glided in that direction, occasionally beating their wings to gain speed. After a moment, Zul'vii spoke again. "Hey, Illidan?" He 'looked' at her. "The situation here is stabilizing very fast… and you no longer experience symptoms from your wound…" She paused for a moment, not noticing the frown spreading across his lips. "I want to go visit my cousin and his people down in Durotar for a month or so." He didn't respond, and she looked over at him. His face was impassive- blank- staring ahead at the military village. "Of course, I'll come back then. But it would be nice to visit what family I have. Who knows when or if I will see them again?" No reaction. As they reached the military village, he let go of her hand, pulling his own limb back to his side. The archers and spell casters below examined them… and recognized their leaders. So they went back to their duties. Zul'vii jerked backwards, her wings beating to keep her hovering. Illidan glanced at her and then mimicked her, both of them setting down gently on the ground. After a moment, the demonhunter looked back down at her.

"When are you leaving?" he asked blankly.

"Whenever Jaina returns with news." He frowned slightly, but said nothing, turning and heading toward the command spire to locate Kael and Vashj. Zul'vii blinked and then ran up beside him. He didn't look at her, but paused as she wrapped her arms around his torso and hugged him tightly. When she let go, he resumed walking. "You could come with me. Kael and Vashj can handle things here. They could even use the practice." He paused again, setting down the hoof that he had moved to take a step with.

"Why would I want to?" he said bitterly.

"I'd think you get bored without me." She grinned. "Besides, it would work very well for the strengthening of alliances with the orcs and trolls, and would prevent them from taking it into their heads to attack us."

"Unless the sight of a demon angers them worse," he replied mockingly.

"You don't have to come." He said nothing, silent a long moment. "But if you didn't… I'd be running around Durotar unsupervised. Think of all the trouble I could get in. All the daring adventures, epic battles, food fights I'd get into without you having a piece of the action…" He snorted. She laughed, stepping behind him and pushing one of his wings out of the way. She lifted her hands to his shoulders and gently kneaded, slowly earning the reward of feeling him un-tense. "All the danger, escapades… romances…" He stiffened, and she looked up at him. She'd baited him, and he'd just bit the line- and she'd encountered an interesting fact.

Illidan was jealous. He was jealous of her attention.

"… I will come, only if it will halt your annoying prattle." She smiled and nodded, and lowered her hands.

"Thank you." The two eventually continued walking, relaying their success to Kael and Vashj. Illidan had become even more reckless from his imprisonment below ground, and he did not hold life in very high value. However, Kael and Vashj were essential to his forces, and both had aided him for a long time, in all his endeavors, whether they benefited or not. He had, to a degree, a sense of respect for his two subordinates.

He would not kill them as readily as he would deal with other minions of his. Zul'vii, however… Illidan shook his head, driving out thoughts of the troll. Zul'vii was different. He would not let _her_ die until he had paid his debt to her. Illidan did not have much honor, but he had pride. As he could not bring himself to destroy her, he was left with only one alternative to assuage his ego and arrogance- he had to repay her.

And for some reason, as much as he loathed her constant attention, he utterly, truly, and completely hated whenever she ignored him. It was like watching Tyrande slip away all over again.

Thinking of Tyrande made him scowl, his fists clenching. If there was a single thing, in all his life, that he would change, it would be whom Tyrande chose as her life partner. But he could not change it. She loved Malfurion. And blinded by obsession and love, Illidan could not hate her for it. Not any more, at least. He 'looked' down at his clawed hands, seeing the violet blood drawn on his palms. Bitterly, he laughed to himself. In fact, he was staring to believe he couldn't even _fault_ her for it. A great crusader of the night elves Illidan had turned out to be. At the slightest disappointment, he had almost forsaken them… Almost forsaken Tyrande. He had failed his people, and almost failed her survival. And then, later, when he absorbed the Skull of Guldan…

Tyrande had fought her own kin, battled through Maive and her watchers alike, and all to set him free… She had truly believed in him. She had disobeyed Malfurion to free him. And oh, such ecstasy was her voice after such long torment. He had almost thought it a dream… another nightmare… But no, there she was, pure and radiant as always. The gentle sound upon his broken conscious had revitalized him, made him zealous in his attempts to make her proud…

Only to consume the Skull of Guldan… and to watch regret flash over her countenance.

He had been angry with Malfurion and Tyrande for being blind, for not seeing the sacrifice in what he had done- the lack of corruption…

Now that he looked back in retrospect, he saw himself as they saw. He could not say that he regretted what he _did…_No, no, he loved the power too much… But he would have given anything to have… to have somehow prevented the regret and disappointment in her face. He had failed her then. That is why he brought her back to Malfurion when she was trapped by the Scourge. He could not fail her again, no matter how deeply he wanted to bring her to Outland with him…

He knew that would only fill her with regret… disappointment…

Sadness…

He could not hurt her like that. It would destroy him. And she would never, ever, have forgiven him.

Zul'vii's hand on his arm saved him from his own broodings, drawing him back into the world of the living. He looked at her, scowling.

"Cheer up. Nothing bad has happened yet and you're already upset." He snorted, letting her lift up a hand and gently push his hair behind his foot-and-a-half-long ears, savoring those few moments of attention. Perhaps it was from the lonely abuse he had suffered, but he both hated and enjoyed the troll's presence. "You alright?" He turned away and headed toward his tent. Let her mind her own business. "Illidan, if you just answered, I wouldn't have to bug you for fifteen minutes straight." He said nothing and she sighed, following him.

Illidan and Zul'vii shared a tent, much as they did ever since the poor demonhunter was first afflicted by Frostmourne's wrath. It had begun with necessity, but neither had sought or asked for a change. Both had a separate cot, a separate living space. Neither were particularly affectionate- no secret love life, no hidden intimacy. Still, neither left the other's company. Since the day the fates had set the two entities together, they had seldom been apart. And that tradition held out, even past Illidan's return to health. There was no readily apparent reason, no fathomable cause… They were friends. They enjoyed one-another's company. And neither wanted to be alone.

"How long do you want to stay in the southern lands, half troll?"

"No more than a month. Maybe just a few weeks." He sneered.

"Though it pales in comparison to my life time, a month is long. Anything could happen to our village in that time.

"I'm aware of that. You are free to stay here or return as necessary. I am only an auxiliary figure of this base- not its leader. While I feel it is my duty to aid you (She never used the word serve), I am not a necessity." Illidan grunted, irritated by how quickly she had killed his argument, and collapsed on his bed, his wings sprawling to either side. He still had some boyish, undignified habits from his youth. Though he had lived far, far longer than she could recognize with, there had been no development from his early years till his release. His imprisonment had destroyed that. His wings throbbed lightly, aching from flying- an activity they had never before been used in. Evidently, Zul'vii noticed, for he felt her touch on his wing moments later, and the ache vanished. Then she returned to her own cot.

After a moment, she blinked and sat up.

"Tomorrow's my birthday," she suddenly said, slightly awed. "I forgot all about it."

"Good. I forgot mine's _date_." She scowled

"I think I'll give myself a present. Maybe Vol'jin will remember and we can have a small party O.o" He grumbled to himself.

"Oh goody. I'll bring the flowers."

"I like white roses." He 'looked' at her a moment and then sighed softly.

"I was being sarcastic. Sleep, Zul'vii." She laughed, and nodded, laying back down.

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Psst, all you geniouses out there! Look! Look! Symbolism! What's a white rose supposed to symbolize? And no, I don't mean death, that's black. I'll tell you next time, on MahiMahi! Speaking of which, where is the old she-devil? Dang it! maybe that's why my chapter was so short O.o. Heheheh :) Dont worry, she'll come back. 


	12. ThirdLegOfTheJournies Quests

I would like everyone to know that I think the expanse of land is slightly larger then depicted in Wow (Or it would only take an hour or so to run from the base of the continent to north-most top of it.)

FEAR ME ALL WITH MY EVIL WORDLINESS! I HAVE REACHED MY 8000 MARK ONCE MORE!

By the way, I didn't know that it was possible to eat literature for sustinance. **Azure**, you have proved me wrong

**Shietan! **To continue, a White rose CAN symbolize innocence _and_ friendship. I am sorry for repeating myself, but I am trying to capitalize on Zul'vii and Ketala both being very very innocent beings, and I am trying to instill it into your minds that Illidan does not necessarily 'see' a beautiful young woman when he 'looks' at her, he sees a young child, _almost _(though not quite) like a daughter. A neice, a waif, something he has to protect. And at the same time a companion because he needs her to take care of him. Course, he'd never admit that, but all you people can _tell _he _must_ love her some way, even if its not well defined. There's too many hints in the story for you people not to get the idea : P Expecially the way he reacted when she said 'romance'. Thrall and Jaina on the other hand are completely and entirely twitterpated (In love). And Varimathras and Sylvanis? Well... they're just weird. Cute, in a freaky sort of way, but still weird.

Oh? Mahi and Keever? Yeesh, that one's even harder then Zul'vii and Illidan. Strange relationships the lot of them. The most sensible one is an orc and a human. Oh the bitter irony.

THANK YOU ALL YOU WONDERFUL PEOPLE FOR YOUR REVIEWS! I LOVE YOU ALL . I'M SORRY THIS CHAPTER DIDNT COME OUT SOONER! A speciall thanks to **Bloodstained Hands** for reviewing because I know your story and thoroughly enjoy it.

And everyone, please tell me if the story gets too mushy! Too many confounded relationships to keep track of! Oh and don't worry, Jaina and Thrall and the Unicorn will come back, I haven't forgotten about them :P

Fear my uber title.

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**3rd Leg of the Journey (So since it has 3, we can be sure that the journey is not human, unless it's russian or japanese and has suffered the effects of nuclear fall out.) The adventure always begins with the Quests.**

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"So, what, exactly, are we looking for?"

"My seer. I have a mental link with him, but it's very weak. It'll be nice to see him in person."

"Ah, so that is how you know everything."

"Yep. He's the one who sent me to the top of the world to find you, my friend." Illidan snorted. The two companions were on a mountain, somewhere in southern Durotar. The mountains there were gargantuan, bordering all the small towns and training villages. As Zul'vii spoke, Illidan lifted up from the mountain again, his wings beating furiously as he flew after her. After a moment, they landed again, and Zul'vii examined the area. After visiting with the trolls, and countless messages to Vashj and Kael to give them further instructions, Zul'vii had decided to locate the other people she knew in the world.

Vol'jin had given remarkable hospitality, even to Illidan. They had stayed in a grand tropical villa, and every night was a small party gathered around the massive bonfires throughout Sen'jin.

Truth be told, they had done more good then bad. Trade had been secured between the Orcs and Night Elves. This put the Night Elves in slight disfavor with the Alliance, but their economy blossomed, and reconstruction accelerated. In Felwood, several villages had already been staked out. Kael had made the Blood Elf base of operations a sunken Night Elf temple. It had been uncorrupted, ruined only by the powers of time and erosion. In fact, it seemed to have once been a temple to Elune, and it made a place of great sanctity and beauty once the main rooms had been made relatively habitable. Zul'vii's tribe had vanished into the wilderness, as they had a tendency to do, trading with the main villages in all sorts of looted and manufactured goods. The trolls had become more lenient in the use of their waters, though they would never end their enmity toward elfin-kind.

But, to return to the matter of seeking Zul'vii's friend…

"How do you not know the entrance to this place?" he asked after a long moment.

"Never been here." He jerked to a halt, staring after her, and began muttering to himself. Before he could voice complaint, however, she interrupted with, "Ah! Found it!" He watched her siddle through a crevice, gesturing for him to follow. He snorted, eyeing the slender crack, and shook his head. Still, he turned sideways, squeezing through the crevice after her. The passage was cramped and narrow for a long time, and Illidan began to think Zul'vii had gone the wrong way. But then the passage suddenly widened, spilling out into a massive, cascading cavern. Illidan shuddered, feeling the vast wealth of innate power swarming around the room, and he felt more then a little bit envious at the huge wealth of magic. The cavern sprawled out in all directions, especially up and down in a massive column. Birds flitted around. A small, sun-like orb hovering in the middle of the column, feeding life to its small world. All around, life jutted from the columns, and the various levels surround it."

"Impressive," the demonhunter murmured, examining the cavern.

"Yep. Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagggg!"

"Present!" Both comrades whipped around to see a Satyr perched up in a tree, crouching down and smiling at him. Most astonishing was that the Satyr's fur was pure white. Even his skin was pure ivory. His face was smooth and slender, as handsome as any elf's. One of his eyes was a vibrant red. The other, however, was deep blue.

"Mag!" Zul'vii exclaimed gleefully, coming up under the tree. "Get down here!" He chuckled lightly, smiling, and then dropped to the ground, slowly standing up. The Satyr was mammoth, as tall as Illidan himself, and just as slender. But he was much kinder in appearance, and he smiled at Zul'vii, leaning down and hugging the half troll gently.

"Long time, no see, little one." He released, smiling at her.

"This place is quite beautiful."

"Yes. It was necessary to move here… But it is finally starting to look like my old home. Now, I see you have brought your second shadow with you." He cocked his head to the side, grinning at Illidan. The demonhunter tensed, growling lightly, and the satyr chuckled.

"Alas, dear Zul'vii… I do believe your shadow is quite vexed with me. But how could that be? Forgive me my love of world-play- I do believe it is prominent in my race, and thus is not my fault, but why should he be vexed with me? Unless… he is vexed that he is not the one being hugged?" One of Illidan's fists immolated and went unnoticed as the satyr snickered again, gently putting an arm around Zul'vii's shoulders. "Come. You and your friend are welcomed here. Join me for lunch, will you?" Zul'vii nodded, smiling back at Illidan.

"You coming?" she asked gently. "You've come so far, no reason to turn back now." He sneered, but followed the two down a grassy path, ending in an elaborate, open villa. Mag lead them in and Zul'vii plopped down on a fur cousin. He brought the three of them various foods- meats, fruits, and breads; then he settled to talk.

"I thank you for visiting Zul'vii. It warms my heart. But there are events in the world that I must speak of."

"A seer to the last," she said with a smirk. He laughed, a goatish sound.

"Yes, but things are dire. Horde, Alliance, Scourge, and Demon all teeter on the brink of a four way war."

"We've been clearing Felwood of demonic influence."

"The Demons are the final, absolute enemy, yes… But it is to the Scourge that we must first bring our war. We need to secure our world before we can muster the effort to fight for it."

"You want us to kill Arthas." Illidan perked up as Zul'vii said that, eying the Satyr and half troll.

"Not immediately, but yes. I have been receiving pointers on how to do so from one that your Illidan might recognize from Nightelfin mythology." Illidan was silent. "One by the name of the MahiMahi." Again, the demonhunter was silent a moment. Then his lips parted in awe as he 'stared' at something past Mag. Zul'vii blinked and looked at the same object with similar surprised.

The being behind Mag towered over common mortals. It was shorter than both Mag and Illidan, but that made it no less magnificent, as it seemed greater than both. It sported traits of every race of sentience known of on that world… and some that were not known to any. Its skin was smooth, light brown, its green and orange hair cascading down to its shoulders. Deep emerald eyes, like pools of liquid seeping off into some other plane, saw all. And from its being, it radiated a power to ancient, so pure and wonderful, Illidan could not find envy within him for this being's might.

"Mahi…" he murmured, awed, and he sank to one knee without pride or ego- even though he did not really understand why he did so. The Mahi smiled down at him like he were her bellowed child. Then he turned and looked at Zul'vii. Elegantly she nodded to the half troll… as if acknowledging an equal.

"Mahi asks," began Mag, "that you seek out one who hates Arthas as much as Illidan does. Her name is Sylvanis Windrunner, Banshee Queen of the Undercity."

"Oh, she sounds pleasant," piped up Zul'vii.

"Sylvanis has allied with the Horde. You, Zul'vii, will be allowed in the Undercity's walls… And Sylvanis will find a welcomed, kindred spirit in Illidan."

"And how will I get there in the first place?" inquired Illidan somewhat reverently.

"Thrall and Jaina are working to send an embassy to Sylvanis. The Banshee's goals are to eradicated the Scourge… and the Humans. Jaina is willing to act as a go between to keep Sylvanis from attempting to wipe out her race, and she is brigning various envoys with her. That will be Illidan's pretense for going. One more thing. It would be good to bring Kal'thalas Sunstrider. He, above all others, will win Sylvanis's loyalty- she was _his_ Ranger General before the fall of Quel'Thalas. She still harbors a love for her homelands… and for what she things is now extinct: her people."

"And Vashj? What of her?"

"Let Vashj remain here to safeguard your lands. She should be able to handle it on her own-…" He paused as both he and Illidan turned their heads, looking at Zul'vii. She had stood, walking over to the Mahi. The half troll looked up at the being a moment, nodding respectfully, and then peered at the creature hidden half behind the Mahi.

Mahi's companion. Illidan gazed at the creature, surprised to find that it was, in fact, undead.

"Hello," murmured Zul'vii in the common tongue, trying to get a good look at the frightened being. It was silent a moment, and then answered in a masculine voice,

"Hello."

"What's your name?" A pause.

"Keever."

"Nice to meet you. My name's Zul'vii."

"Yesss… Keever knows you." She blinked.

"How do you know me?"

"Mahi likes you. And the Elf Demon. She works to keep his mind strong against demonic influence." Zul'vii blinked again.

"Whoa, Illidan, you're lucky. You have _two_ guardian angels." Illidan frowned, but not out of scorn. He was simply surprised as to why Zul'vii was not awestruck with MahiMahi- why she even bothered to noticed the undead. "So, where did you come from, Keever?" He hesitated, evidently baffled by all the attention.

"Undercity… I was… an Apoth-" Memories assailed his mind of the destroyed half elf. She was as unique and kind as the half troll, half elf that now stood before him. Lightly, Keever shuddered. "I was something I am glad that I no longer am."

"Do you know Sylvanis?"

"The Dark Lady" he said with some reverence. "Yes."

"What do you know about her?"

"Powerful… Cunning… Not stereotypical undead. Does not hate all life. Merely hates those that have or would have brought her suffering. Seeks vengeance on Kel'Thuzad and Arthas for destroying her and her homeland."

"Oh, I like her already," murmured Illidan.

"Is employing the Argent Dawn. Even lets undead join the Dawn. They believe in fighting the Scourge and the demons. Whatever race they are- even human- they do not threaten her people, and she continues to like them. Any who threaten her vanish…" Mahi gently prodded him on as Illidan made a mental note to avoid the Argent Dawn. "Her Majordomo is Varimathras, an exNathraziem. He turned to serve her in order that she would spare his life. The Burning Legion deems him a traitor. He is cunning, devious, and evil, but he has become fiercely loyal to Sylvanis."

_There is another thing…_murmured Mahi, and everyone immediately lowered their head in respect save Keever. _There is an undead with a gift like mine. Like yours, Zul'vii._ Zul'vii and Illidan both risked astonished glances up at Mahi. _Her name is Ketala Firhiae. Her spirit name is Trua. But she will only answer to the name of 'Ket' now. Seek her out. She seeks to destroy Arthas… And she might have the power to._

"How will we know her, Mahi?" Zul'vii asked, still astonished by the fact that Mahi had called Zul'vii's healing akin to the Mahi's own power.

_Trua is the only Undead to serve Stormwind. Sylvanis has interest in her, but she might be tempted to unmake the foundation of good-will in Trua. Do not let Sylvanis destroy what the paladins have wrought. Humans are fickle creatures, but these have nurtured something wonderful._

"Paladins. She's being kept by the paladins of Stormwind- to keep her safe and to keep the world safe from her. She must have some sort of power, like I can heal." A grin spread over Mahi's face and Keever giggled.

"She likes you," Keever repeated.

_We must go now. Good luck._ Mahi turned her head, looking at Illidan. Then, gently, she smiled. _Let your hearts be light. There is more pleasure in friendship then in worlds of power. That is why the Burning Legion is never satisfied with what it takes._ It was a warning, and Illidan recognized it for the rebuke that it was, the comment directed at him. Still, he could not find loathing in himself for the Mahi, and he merely watched as she backed up, vanishing with her companion.

* * *

Zul'vii's eyes were bright and she laughed, practically hopping up and down excited at the bow of the small boat, clinging to an assortment of ropes. Illidan lifted a brow, eyeing her. She was making the boat tip a bit. 

"What are you so happy about?"

"Action… Adventure…"

"Romance?" She burst out laughing.

"I'm an irrepressible young heroine. I can't help my naïve unrest with simple life.

"Oh, ha ha," he muttered. In one hand, he was holding his newest warblades. He had forged these structures while they were in Sen'jin, and had elegantly engraved them with ruins on their 3 day exploration of the mountains. One blade leaned against his knee as he continuously sharpened its gleaming edges, arcane energy radiating from the magnificent ruins. "You are certain that we will reach Orgimmar faster by raptor?"

"Yes. Raptors will signify us as allied with the horde- the Trolls are rather frugal with their raptors- they wont give them out to just anyone. Besides, with the storm coming, and with you not being the most graceful of aerial acrobats, it's safer to go by raptor.

"We could wait till the end of the storm and fly to Orgimmar."

"We'd be late to Ogrimmar and we'd miss Jaina. Besides, we'll have to rest somewhere between Sen'jin and Orgimmar. Razor Hill is the only area with food, water, and protection from the elements and other organisms. And a troll and a demon/elf are certainly going to be detained there if they just fly in. Besides, Vol'jin means to visit Thrall anyway. He can come with us, and his presence will surly signify us as 'allies' of the Horde."

Illidan just snorted, standing up. They had borrowed this fishing ship in order to visit the mountains over a period of days, and at the same time have a safe place to sleep. The cabin was only one room big and the ship was small, but it served their purposes and had been fast enough to return them to Sen'jin in a single day. The demonhunter lifted his hands, tweaking the sails the way Zul'vii had taught him over the past few days. She smiled and turned, helping him, as they gently brought their small ship up to the shores of Durotar once more.

Illidan was fortunate he was an elf. If not, no raptor would have been able to bear his weight, as his height alone contributed massively to his weight. The trolls had been loathed to share their beloved mounts, but Vol'jin had agreed that Zul'vii should travel to Orgrimmar, and he knew she was not about to leave without Illidan. Raptor would be the only means of arriving in the capital city before Jaina.

Zul'vii giggled, watching the massive female jerk almost straight upward. Illidan was never really frightened, and, therefore, he was snarling curses under his breath, trying to control the giant raptor. Zul'vii grinned, riding her smaller, white raptor up beside his, and she reached out, stroking his mount's nose. Immediately the beast calmed, leaving a flustered and annoyed Illidan glaring at Zul'vii.

"Oh come now, its not that bad. I'll ride beside you to make sure she doesn't decide to nibble on your leg." He scowled, wings fanning out and then closing.

"I'd kill it." She and Vol'jin both flinched, but made no comment. The leader of the trolls merely gestured to their small escort, and the party began moving.

As much as Illidan and raptor loathed one another, the demonhunter could not fault the monster's speed and grace. It charged over land like a bird dove through air, only one foot ever on the ground. The only movement its torso made was to slide lightly from side to side. Nightsaber panthers made a forward-backward movement, but Illidan was certainly not stupid. He learned quickly how to hit upon the beast, and the ride was not as painful as one might first have thought it would be. Late into the night, their beasts slowed… and the guards of Razor Hill looked in some anger and curiosity at the unique group that road to the town's 'gate'.

* * *

He was destroyed. Mindless. Rather then blue, his aura had become pale white and gray. Only scant intelligence remained within his husk- the smallest of minds- so that he could endure his helpless suffering. His body acted on every whim of the litch king, his magic curbed to every desire of the master. He did not have the power to have his own personal thoughts. He was simply a mind, a numb mind, curbing once more to the will of its master. 

He was driven forward, his litch form rebuilt by the Scourge necromancers. Endless frost and power spilt from him as he was given more and more and more of his freedom back, more of his mind. Skeletons raised and hacked down the young and innocent. Children were butchered before their mothers were pulled apart. Burning, gnawing, hacking, biting. And when it was done, a monster stood alone in the center of the town. Dark blue eyes made of aura and frost burnt with unending, seething hatred. The monster reeked of death and murder, and evil. The very tendrils of frost that feathered off from his body froze and killed small life around him. Plants withered, insects imploded, and vermin burnt away in cold so vivid it seared like fire.

Kel'Thuzad was perfected. This time, there were no scraps of humanity left over; All that was left was cold, cruel, cunning.

_Your wish, my master?_

_The same as always. Taunt Sylvanis._

_Of course, my master._ There was an unspoken command, but Kel'Thuzad knew his master's desires perfectly. Find Ketala's corpse. Make sure she is dead.

* * *

"She is honorable, brave, and honest. The few paladin skills I have been able to teach her? She picked them up without effort! The girl even quotes from the Tome of Light itself." 

"Are we talking about an undead?"

"Sir…"

"Ander tells me that she is a cunning and ruthless swordsman, skilled with all types of weaponry. 'Skill' and 'cunning' may be worthy traits, but 'ruthless'?"

"She is only well-trained. She fights with the precision of someone raised to fight- as she should."

"But would not such upbringing create a very violent nature?"

"I have never seen a violent aspect to her. More, she is saddened and dejected when under harassment."

"She, herself, has said that during battle she 'zones out'."

"A flaw brought on by her _elemental_ heritage, and one that should be easily corrected by paladin teachings. She is not violent, she merely has an instinct she has not yet been taught to manipulate."

"She is too old."

"She is only six mortal years of age."

"Naïve, impressionable…"

"All the more reason to teach her, so that she does not fall to corruption."

"Relkin reported her as a hostile, blood-thirsty monster."

"Ander reported that the girl reacted with minimal force in self defense. Relkin charged her after losing a fair duel."

"The people will not like it."

"It is not the people's decision, sir. It is yours." The other man was silent a long moment.

"Will she follow orders?"

"Even if she is very willful, she is also very obedient."

"The new page initiates are being brought in tomorrow, correct?"

"Yes."

"Merge her in with them. Tell her to be docile. She is not to settle any matters with broken limbs, or the populace will be in unrest."

"She will be picked on."

"If this is what she wants, she will have to make do."

* * *

"Hello," said a cheerful voice. Ket lifted her head, peering at the speaker from beneath her hood. He was a lively looking high elf, blonde hair falling to his shoulders. "Are these seats taken? There's no where else to sit," he said, gesturing to her empty, circular table. 

"No," she said after a moment, chewing on a carrot. Ketala knew full well that she was dead- she needed only sparing nutritional nourishment. Still, she was healthy for an undead. No bones protruded. Her skin was as white and unmarred as ever. A little food could only help her retain human normality. Even her mouth had decided not to rot yet. Her gums were intact, her tongue in perfect working order, and her lips whole, if a bit dry.

It was Gydrion's theory that her elemental heritage kept her body in near-living condition. The only life process Ketala couldn't claim was that her heart beat. Sometimes she even had to use the rest room. The elf sat down at the lunch table, setting his tray on the top, and began to eat. Beside him sat a rather curly, black-haired boy and a mischievous looking red-haired child.

"So," began the red-haired one, "What's your name? I'm Mathic, the blonde runt is Qkiloden, and ox, here, is Surn." The elf wrinkled his nose but laughed.

"Ket," Ketala murmured, eating the rest of the carrot.

"Wow, you're a quiet one, aren't you? Why do you keep your hood up?" He reached over, rude and irrepressible, trying to flick back her hood. She grabbed his wrist, squeezing tightly. He winced, blinking. After a moment, she released. "What was that for?"

"Oh, leave him alone, Mathic," Qkiloden muttered.

"Her," corrected Surn. Both boys blinked, looking at the large paladin. "She's a girl. One of the master's told me so. The only girl page this year." The elfin and red-haired boys blinked and stared with some surprise.

"A girl?" blurted the red-haired one. "How's she supposed to compete with us men?" The elf blinked, lifting a brow.

"Actually, Mathic, in elfin society, the greatest warriors are mostly all female."

"What? How the heck did you guys stand up against the Horde so long?" The elf stiffened.

"The practice court is open now, is it not?" Ketala asked softly.

"Yes," said Mathic, slowly smirking.

"Then let us duel, and decide whether the elf is right or not."

Qkiloden was bright red, covering his mouth and trying to keep from laughing, his pupil-less eyes bright with mirth. Mathic blinked, a disoriented heap on the ground. Ketala had practically run circles around him, her skill and strength so surpassed his own. He had his armor cut off, a 'K' hacked into his buckler, his pant legs slit open from midthigh down, his shirt in tatters, his sword around 16 yards away, and not a single blade-scratch on his body.

"The hell…?" he muttered, still confused. Ketala laughed, grabbing him by the shoulder and pulling him up to his feet.

"You have been beaten by a woman." She patted him on the head. "Be proud." Qkiloden lost his battle, uncovered his mouth, threw back his head, and burst out laughing.

"Shut up," grumbled Mathic as Ketala sheathed both her scimitars. Qkiloden soon controlled himself, beaming at Ketala.

"Why don't you hang out with us?" he asked happily. "We could use someone to keep his ego in check." Ket smiled and then frowned, lowering her head. The Elf blinked. "What is it?"

"I am not someone you would want to be associated with." Qkiloden blinked, crestfallen.

"Why not?"

"I am different. Someone will eventually find out what I am. The common people will not be pleased to hear I am not in a cage somewhere, but in fact adopted by the paladins- mingling with their children." All three boys blinked. Even Mathic looked a bit concerned for the girl, and all three looked like they were itching with curiosity.

"Why would that be?" the elf asked, confused. "Why tell us this if it'll get you in trouble faster?"

"Because you have been nice to me." The elf blinked, looking first at his comrades and then back at Ket.

"What are you?" Ketala was silent a moment, and then touched the hem of her cloak. Slowly, she pushed the hood back, revealing her strange eyes and stalk-white features.

"Undead… And I have elemental blood." Mathic and Qkiloden's jaws dropped, and they stared at her. "Holy energy heals me," she rapidly continued, "and I'm something of a protégé for that reason."

"You were the undead Gydrion brought in…" the elf murmured. She nodded.

"I've lived here ever since. Only just recently, they made me a page. I'm to learn the ways of the paladins." Surn was the first one to react, walking up to Ket and smiling down at her.

"Seems to me that you need all the friends that you can get to up your reputation." She blinked, her eyes whirling slowly.

"But I'm undead…"

"You can still kick Mathic's butt." A smile slowly spread over her face, her eyes whirling bright green.

"You don't mind?"

"Of course not," piped in Qkiloden, trying to be helpful.

"Besides," said Mathic brightly, "we can use you as a threat! Do my homework or I'll get Ket out here-!" Ket frowned and he laughed. "Just kidding." Human children, especially, seem to have a bizarre trait that disappears as they grow older. Instead of everything different, disgusting, and powerful being evil…

It's cool.

Ket's eyes flamed hot purple and pink and she smiled, hugging Surn around the middle and picking him off the ground. The giant boy yelped, grabbing her shoulder and looking down at her in astonishment.

She laughed and set him down, tiny in comparison to him.

"You are strong…" he remarked

"I coulda told you that," said Mathic, eyeing all the new holes in his current dress-wear.

"Do you guys want to see my mount?" she asked, already eager to impress her new friends.

"You already have a horse?" Mathias asked, envious. She shook her head, guesturing for them to follow. "No, no! But I DO have a mount! Come, he'll love the attention! And I hear the Night Elves ride them, maybe Qkiloden can tell me what the heck he is!" The elf blinked as she turned and headed for the stables.

"A Nightsaber?" he wondered, and then sprinted after her, followed by his two companions.

And thus, through thick and thin, Ketala had found three new companions…

* * *

(A Long Time Later)

Ketala was silent, her eyes closed, 'meditating'. Gydrion often found her like this, and wondered at what she needed such peace and concentration to think on. Possibilities crossed his mind, but he did not know enough about the girl to make a proper guess.

If he had known what Ketala was doing, he might have worried. Her mind was stretched out, the tendrils of her conscious reaching far past the walls of the paladin complex and through Stromwind's mighty fortifications. Her mind was far away, far up in the reaches of Lordaeron. And there, it was touching the Scourge. All undead save the abominations opened up unfailingly to her mind. She nurtured in them thought, emotion, and intelligence, and then snatched it from them, pulling their consciousness far away from them…

To where they would be safe from Arthas's all-seeing eyes. At each visit, she returned their consciousness's coaxing out a little bit more, a little more recognition and thought. Each time, her mind reached out farther, touching other undead.

Most of all, the creatures she could reach the easiest where the frostwyrms. Their consciousnesses returned to partial-sanity the fastest. They flocked to her call, thirsting after her attention like a beast might thirst for water in an endless desert. The ghouls were not far behind them. Though far less intelligent, they chattered and vied for attention, each eager for more life, for more thought. The banshee's were still intelligent, but her mind reached theirs anyway. Trapped by Arthas's will, they were as helpless as unintelligent undead around them. For them, she could draw their mind more into contact with their body, giving them limited will. They were angry and volatile, however, and any attempt to strengthen their will would result in hours of mental battle as she convinced them to be docile… and to wait.

There would be a time to rebel.

The necromancers, however, like the abominations, could not be reached, but their minds could not be touched for a completely different reason; They were not undead in the first place, and thus they still had some semblance of free will.

They followed the litch king _willingly._ Acolytes were the same.

The gargoyles, on the other hand, were cunning animals- not purly intelligant beings, so in them she drew out thought and understanding. The Destroyers were similar in nature to the gargoyles, mixes of sentient beings, animals, and masonry. They too fell to her mind, though at a much slower rate.

If Gydrion had known, he would have worried. At any moment, Arthas could rediscover her existence, wipe out her control, and somehow gain access to her once more, be it through force or stealth. But Gydrion did not know, and thus Ketala continued, a plan formulating within the deep recesses of her brain. She would defeat Arthas one day. And whenever she would fight him, his army would be there to help _her._

But that was not the reason Ketala initially began stretching out to the undead minds. There were two underlying reasons. The first was that she deeply pitied these creatures, and felt she owed them for what had happened to her own beloved ghoul. She could not keep her mind from them, as she bore a deep-seated yearning to help them.

The second reason was that she was searching for Kel'Thuzad.

Ketala tensed, her eyes flashing open. She lifted her head and looked around, sniffing the air. After a moment, she pulled her cloak on, and she turned, heading down the stairs. She could not see the thing she was looking for, but she could sense it. Its aura radiated out to her like a beacon, drawing her closer. She moved silently through the hallways, and entered the main kitchens from behind. Everything was busy, and she made her way to another door, exiting out into the court yard. She looked around, taking in the sight of the alter in the middle of the yard. Gydrion was there, speaking with, of all people, the King's Protector. The king himself, a small boy, was sitting on the steps of the alter, his chin in one hand, paying close attention to whatever they were speaking about.

Whatever they were speaking about must have been important, as it was the dead of night, and there were magic wards in place to keep the temple from being seeing by outside forces. However, the group had not counted on an enemy being present to spy on them. Ketala tackled the invisible menace from behind, wrapping an arm around its skeletal mouth and yanking it back, deep into the shadows. It writhed in her arms, but it was a weak, helpless creature, and it stilled when she raised a scimitar to its head.

From what she could tell by what parts of it were pressed against her, it was a skeletal being with no lower torso or legs. It was, if her suspicions were correct, a shade. Even in pure daylight, this fiend would have been invisible. At night, it was no more then any other shadow.

But IT had not counted on Ketala being there. Her mind dove powerfully into its, shoving aside all connection with the Litch King and any other lesser masters it might have. The creature writhed again and then went still as she ensnared and drew up humanity that had been destroyed by fanaticism and undeath. Unlike the acolytes who give their lives to become shades, she could touch this being's mind and draw forth its conscious. The cunning, devious monster she held in her arms slowly reverted to a pathetic, half intelligent state, limp and helpless. Smiling to herself, Ketala slowly resheathed her scimitar and bore the near-weightless creature back up to her room.

The shade was by far the strangest creature she had ever contacted. Intelligent but undead, it reflected both sides of the spectrum. It was, to pick an adjective, shy. The being did not attempt to run away from her or leave her room, though it occasionally fought very weakly for a reconnection to its master. It lingered away from her, slipping to the other side of the room if she tried to approach it. At the same time, it was always within two yards of her, yearning for attention the same way a ghoul might. Ketala sighed, eyeing the strange creature. It had become visible, only vanishing if it was trying to directly avoid her.

_What is your name?_ she asked it gently. The creature jumped, shrinking back into a corner. Then it returned to within a few yards of her, its clawed hands grasping at empty air.

"Names are unimportant to the order."

_I did not ask if names were important. I asked what your name was._ The creature jumped again, and then, slowly, replied with,

"Hielrat." She nodded.

_I am Ket._ It was silent a moment, before drifting slightly closer to her. Ketala just smiled, reaching over to it with one hand. It jumped backwards, and then came forwards once more, letting her stroke its domed, skeletal forehead. _There… Don't be afraid, Hielrat._ The shade did not budge, allowing her time to examine the strange creature and to comfort it.

"Ket, don't think I didn't see you down in the court-" Gydrion stepped in, and his eyes widened as he saw the shade. The undead creature snarled, vanishing, and Ket blinked, grabbing its arm and looking up at Gydrion.

"I sensed him. He was spying on you. I cut off his connection to the Scourge- his leaders will just think him dead."

"As he should be," the paladin said, drawing out his sword. Ket's eyes widened and the Shade chattered wildly, evidently terrified. She shoved the ghostly skeleton behind her and pushed it into the corner of her room, between both walls, the bed, and her back. It reappeared, snarling in terror and clutching Ketala's shoulders, trying to hide behind her.

"There, there," she murmured, half turning to pat it gently on the head. "It's alright… It's alright, shhhh…." The Paladin blinked, staring, as the shade calmed down, half nuzzling against her, looking at her terrified with empty black eyes. "Now, will you be good for me, and stay put?" It nodded meekly, and she scooted away from it, leaving it huddling in the corner. She patted it gently on the head and then looked at Gydrion. "They mentioned to you that I could affect undead like I affect animals. They never told you about Eldiaren, did they?"

"… That's an elfin name."

"A half elf. A ghoul. He and Thrash were my sole companions, though I fear he was less sentient then my beloved mount was. He left Kel'Thuzad's base with me, and traveled with me south. He and Thrash scented the abominations- ghouls retain a phenomenally good sense of smell- and I ran to where the fighting was, knowing there would be a group of humans…

"And hopefully a solution to my dilemma. I zoned out while fighting. I forgot to protect him, and focused solely on my enemy. His cry of terror brought me to my senses, and I regained pure consciousness just in time to watch the last abomination pop his head off like the flower from a dandelion. Later, Therian nearly died because I had zoned out. I am now trying to stop from ever doing that again. I don't want anyone else to die."

"… Why did the ghoul follow you from Kel'Thuzad's base?"

"Thrash is rather sentient. I can pull the same will and conscious and sentience out from the husks of the undead. That's how I learned Eldiaren's name- he remembered it." Gydrion shivered, beset by a chill, staring down at his protégée. "While Kel'Thuzad encouraged me to use my power to manipulate the undead to my demands in order to further serve the litch king, I touched several ghouls, bringing out… 'life' within them again. Eldiaren was my favorite- the closest to me. He was my friend. And he, like I am now, was not bound by the Litch King's control after I brought back enough of his conscious." She turned a bit back toward the Shade, and gently pulled the skeletal ghost to her, stroking its jawbone. It quivered and went limp, silent in her arms. After a moment, she looked back up at Gydrion.

"Can I keep him? I can make sure he doesn't leave- that is… if you do trust me. I know that I, being undead, am difficult to predict or trust." Gydrion stared down at her silently, watching the Shade curl up in an almost fetal position.

"What are you doing to him?" he asked in morbid fascination.

"I don't know. I'm just touching his mind the way I touch other minds." She looked down worriedly at the Shade, tenderly stroking his cheek. "But I think I'm making him…_feel_ again."

"He's sentient… You said you couldn't touch sentient minds."

"As far as I knew, I couldn't. I can't influence necromancers. I've never been able to influence humans into liking me, as we all well know." He blinked and his eyes narrowed. "What?" she asked innocently, cradling the Shade.

"Or can you?Othen is not stupid. Why he would come to us with such ridiculous claims and such simple proof? Why would _I_ choose to keep you instead of eliminating a threat to my race?" She blinked, staring up at him impassively, her eyes whirling to a sickly gray-yellow.

"Gydrion…" He waved a hand dismissively, turning and stalking off.

* * *

When he returned the next night, face darkened with thought and suspicion, she was gone. He blinked, looking around. "Ket?" He stepped into the room. "Keta-" He froze, staring around the room. All her things, every possession, were gone. Even her little white cloak was absent. He turned, dashing down the stairs and around the corridors, coming to a halt at the stables. Thrash was gone. Swearing to himself mildly (For no paladin allowed himself to swear hard or often, as an example to the other people of the world), Gydrion saddled and mounted his own horse, riding to complex entrance. 

"You there!" he said, skidding his mount to a rough halt and pointing at one of the guards. "Did Ketala ride through here?"

"No sir!" His eyes flamed (though more with worrisome anger then any enimity for the poor girl) and he turned his horse around, and blinked, staring down at the three boys sitting glumly on the stairs leading up to the temple.

"You boys- you were Ketala's friends, no? You are the three she always speaks of." They blinked, looking up, and the two smaller ones jumped to their feet, the larger one standing up more slowly.

"We're not telling you anything!" said one. The other, an elf, glared down at the other boy, evidently thinking the human child very stupid for having admitted they_ knew_ anything.

"She went over the wall," said the largest boy, finally reaching his feet. "Her cat climbed it. She came to say goodbye to us." Gydrion blinked.

"Then she is out loose in the city?"

"No, sir, we saw her leap over to the slick outer wall and jump down from there. She's outside." Gydrion pulled his horse back a bit, a puzzled expression on his face. "She said-"

The elf piped up, glaring up at Gydrion. "She said, "I can't die until Arthas is defeated for what's he's done to this world, and to me."" Gydrion fell silent, gazing at the two smaller boys, both who were looking at him with accusation and anger.

"… Do you know where she's gone?"

"Why should we tell you?" hissed out the smaller human boy.

"To keep said Litch King from finding her first." The children paled, looking at one another, not sure what to do. "I am a paladin, my word is my honor. I have no intention of bringing woe to Ketala. I never have, despite what she interpreted my brooding as."

"She's heading north again. She's going to try to reach the dwarven lands. We told her that if she can keep Thrash hidden, she could pass for a Human… And then she might be safe in Ironforge." Gydrion nodded, worried and relieved at the same time.

"Did she mention anything about the Undercity?"

"She asked us whether we thought Ironforge or Undercity would be better," the elf offered. "We said Ironforge and she agreed, and didn't even ask where the Undercity was." He nodded, turning his horse and racing off to find Ander. He had to find Ketala _fast_ He had no doubt that if he failed to reach her in time, Sylvanis would find her.

* * *

She felt Hielrat, the shade never moving far from her. Through his eyes, she saw the world around her from two perspectives, and thus was how she saw the Felhound long, long before it had the time to attack. "Sacer…" she murmured quietly, her hands moving from her reigns to her scimitar handles. The beast jumped, roaring loudly. Immediately, Thrash kicked the monster, blowing it into a tree. Ket sprung from the mount's back, charging at the Felhound. The tentacles reached for her, sensing her innate arcane power. The ends of the tentacles were severed by twin scimitars. The blade turned, diving into the monsters sides, and its screamed, pawing at her. The NightSaber pounced on the Felhound's hind legs, drawing it back and drawing huge gashes in its sides. Ketala drew back her blades and plunged them through the Felhound's open mouth, and roughly ripped her blades up through its upper jaw. The brain was cleaved into three pieces and the monster collapsed, dead. Hielrat came up beside her immediately, looking her over. After determining she was alright, he slipped back into the shadows. Almost immediately, there was the sound of soft clapping. Ketala was silent, her hands tightening on her scimitars. Slowly, she turned to face the sound of the noise… To see a female undead standing there, garbed in elaborate black robes. The woman had enough time to lower her hands before a holy flame erupted like a bolt of lightning from the sky to land directly on top of her. 

Ketala was never one for learning slowly. In the lengthy time- a few years in fact- she had spent at the complex, she had soaked up the paladin arts with ease and grace, hurtling ahead of her classmates. And never once had the blessed light failed to come to her aid, though citizen and page alike had scorned her.

However, though it had been long, wonderful years since she had abandoned the Scourge, years filled with the friendship of her three companions, the mentoring of Ander and Gydrion, she had no doubt that their were eyes in the world still looking.

She had no doubt Arthas knew she might live.

Two scant years was nothing to the undying life of the Litch King.


	13. Bending of the Dark Ladys Will

LOOK AT HOW FAST I POST! FEARR MEEEEE!

Yeah, sorry about my repetition, even though I already said sorry last time- DANG IT! now I'm repreating my appology for repeating! GAHHHHH! (By the way I)void, I don't have 20 chapters :P I understand your concerns, but my silly chapter titles are that way for a reason, and my repetition is there to brutally drill ideas into your unwilling brains BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Please review. It will make the Spirit of Fanfiction love you more.

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**Bending of The Dark Lady's Will**

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* * *

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The holy fires burnt away, leaving a scorched corpse where the undead woman had once been. Ketala snorted, still teasing her scimitars from their sheathes.

"Your reflexes do leave something to marvel at." She whipped around to see the cloaked woman, and prepared to call down another pillar of flame. "Peace, peace," the woman said, holding her bare palms up. "I mean you no harm. Though perhaps I should- you just killed my emissary."

"Your name?" Ket demanded icily, drawing out both scimitars.

"Is unimportant," she murmured, slowly coming up to Ket. The paladin girl stiffened, holy energy blazing hotter around her hands. "Ah, what is this? Does not the Tome of Light say that it is wrong to kill that which cannot defend itself? I am unarmed."

"I highly doubt you cannot defend yourself."

"Making accusations already? No, no child. I am not here to cause you grief. You… interest me. How often is it that you see an undead who can wield holy light?" Thrash growled and Ketala's eyes narrowed.

_Hielrat. Is this a Forsaken?_

_Yes. It is their queen… Sylvanis-_

"Windrunner!" Ketala snarled, backing away from her. "Leave me be! I want nothing to do with you OR Arthas!"

"Arthas and I are enemies. I am insulted that you group us together," she said, not betraying her surprise at being discovered. "He killed me, and in a cruel spot of humor revived me so that I, who tried so hard to defend my people from him, was his willing servant."

Ketala paused, looking at her uncertainly. She had heard this story before, but never with such conviction.

"He shall _die_ for what he has done to me… to my people… to my family…" Ketala's eyes whirled brown after a moment, hearing her own words reflected in this monster's voice. Sylvanis was quiet, slowly coming closer to her. "I mean you no harm. I wish simply to talk… to see if we can aid each other in our similar quest." Ketala backed up a step, eyeing her uncertainly. "You have heard many lies about me, depicting me as a monster and murderer. I seek only to destroy that which has destroyed me."

"The humans do not deserve to be wiped out. They are prejudiced, but they have been good to me."

"They cast you out, didn't they? As soon as they discovered you _might_ be dangerous… that you _might_ be betraying them…"

"You're guessing, you know nothing."

"Gydrion abandoned you, didn't he? You have some dark gift he feared." Ketala could not get whiter, but she grayed, paling all the same. "The same one who took you in… alienated by something you cannot deny you have. What is it he feared?" Thrash roared, launching forward at the woman. Sylvanis, nimble as she was in life, dodged out of the way, edging away from the massive cat. "What makes you think you will be safer in Ironforge? They have sages in place all over the city to detect people like you, Ketala. So undead spies cannot get in.

_Thrash… wait…_ The panther blinked, looking at his master and making a whining noise. _Wait, she might be right._

"I may not be the warm and loving creature you see Gydrion as… But my people would not seek to destroy you."

"You are a manipulative snake. You would use me."

"As the paladins would. Why else would they train you in their arts? To keep you under their thumb, so that you never escape them. They fill your head with hatred for all other races to make sure that I… and the orcs… never get control of you. So that you are entrapped by them forever, and never free."

"I would never be free under you."

"Perhaps not. But you would be safe."

"From them. Not from you." Sylvanis regarded her from beneath her hood a long moment.

"Perhaps… I have a way that we can meet all our desires. We shall help each other destroy Arthas… You shall work for me… and yet you shall retain your freedom to dissent and leave."

"And how do you plan to convince me that I am allowed that freedom."

"I 'employ' a faction known as the Argent Dawn, who believes simply in fighting against evil- against the Scourge and Demonkind. In fact, your paladins might see you joining them as a sign of redemption."

"You do not seem to me to be someone who easily gives up power. Why should I trust you?"

"I am not one who easily gives up power. But you underestimate my will. I am no demon, Ketala Fiheriae. I have a goal. My goal is to destroy Arthas. If I must sacrifice some power to defeat him, so be it. But," she said, slowly pushing her hood back, "you must swear to me that you will not use your position to fight against me. Even after Arthas is dead, you must never attack me or my city."

"I will defend Stormwind and my people if you attack them."

"But you will not go on a raid to Tristfall Glades. Is that clear?"

"Not against you, no."

"And if you are in my lands and my men attack you?"

"… I will not kill them. I will fight and run, but I will not do damage to you or your men if I am the one in Tristfall. I will not raid your people, nor navigate a raid against them." Sylvanis paused, nodding to herself, showing her pale visage and hair.

"Good enough. I suppose I cannot expect total obedience from someone raised by Humans."

"I have another demand."

"Oh? You seem to have many of those."

"I don't need you Sylvanis. You seem to be the one who wants my help." Her whirling eyes narrowed. "Kel'Thuzad is _mine_ to deal with." Sylvanis lifted a brow.

"He has caused me great grief. It is for him that Arthas destroyed my homeland, and he prevented me from slaying Arthas himself."

"And he raised me from infancy and then sacrificed me to the Litch King." A wicked grin spread over Sylvanis's lips.

"Very well. Kel'Thuzad shall be yours to deal with. But I strike Arthas his death blow."

"I would have it no other way, Dark Lady." Sylvanis chuckled deeply and drew a scroll from her robes. She read a few words and then dropped it on the ground, backing up as it burned and spit up into a large portal.

"Shall we go, my dear?" Ketala hesitated, still eyeing the Dark Lady distrustfully. Then, slowly, she pulled herself onto Thrash, and moved the cat toward the portal.

"KETALA!" She whipped her head around, looking around the woods. There was Gydrion, charging his mount toward them. "Ketala, don't!" Sylvanis's eyes narrowed. In the blink of an eye, she had her bow out, But Ketala pushed Thrash between the banshee and paladin. Varimathras, hiding in the shadow above the portal, grunted, and shot forward a carrion swarm. Gydrion's horse reared, coming to a jerking halt, and tossed its master to the ground, screaming as bugs tore at its flesh. He was just about to call down an infernal on the dazed paladin when Thrash stepped over the man, hunching down and shielding the paladin's body with its own. Ketala slipped off her mount's back, gently reaching under the cat and touching Gydrion's cheek. The paladin half sat up, looking at her with wide eyes. "Ketala! What are you doing!"

"…I have to go…"

"Ketala, I would never hurt you! I merely needed time to think!" he clasped her hands. "Don't do this! You know what she is!" She leaned forward, putting her face near his ear.

"Is there an Argent Dawn division in Tristfall?" Gydrion blinked, silent a moment.

"Yes," he said, equally quiet.

"I'll be there. It's alright Gydrion. You taught me well."

"Why go at all?"

"Because I can help Sylvanis in a way I could never help your people. They could not trust me enough. Among the Argent Dawn, I will not be prejudiced against. I will be able to defeat Arthas if I help her defeat him."

"She is the enemy of all Humans!"

"Then I will have to work as a diplomat to dissuade such opinions." She smiled, gently patting him on the head, and she pulled back. The priest looked up at her with worry creasing his face. "I'll be fine. Trust me." She stood up, and looked at Sylvanis. "I'll come with you Dark Lady, if your demon friend goes through first and you go through second." Sylvanis lifted a brow, amused. "I would prefer not to see him die." Sylvanis chuckled and gestured to Varimathras. The demon hesitated a moment, but dropped to the ground. Gydrion's eyes widened at the sight of the Nathreziem, his hand tightening on his sword. Varimathras chuckled lightly at the paladin's expression, and then walked through the portal. Sylvanis eyed Ketala a moment, and then went through after him. Ketala looked back at Gydrion, and then wrapped her arms tightly around the man's shoulders.

"Believe in me. I can do this." She let go quickly, and gestured to Thrash, running through the portal with the panther at her side. The massive portal closed behind her, and Gydrion slowly got to his feet, staring at where it had been, his hands tightening into fists. He turned around slowly, sighing to himself…

And came face to face with a shade. His sword was out in a moment, but the Shade backed up, raising its arms in a yielding way.

"No kill," it murmured. "Lady Ketala sends her greetings. She says I am to help you, and I am glad to do so."

Gydrion stared at the creature a long moment.

"Help me?" he asked after a long span of time.

"Yes. I hear her thoughts, her words. I can communicate for her. And I make good spy. No one expects me to spy for humans."

"Tell her she's a foolish, foolish, foolish child." The shade was silent for a moment.

"She says she loves you too, and to please tell Qkiloden, Surn, and Mathic that she is alright." Gyrdrion smiled weakly, eyeing the shade.

"What's your name, abomination?"

"Hielrat, at your service."

"Hielrat, can you see other shades?"

"Yes."

"That's your mission then. Find any spying on our city."

"Yes, sir. Would you like me to find Ander, sir?"

"I think you could do very little in convincing the brash fellow of where I am. He'd sooner put a sword through you."

"…Good point."

"How do you know about Ander?"

"Miss Ketala thinks of him. She knows you would not ride out alone, you have no chance of sweeping an entire forest for her on your own."

"Ah. So she did pick up some strategy from him?"

"Very much from him, and from undead masters as well. She was prized possession of Litch King. The Argent Dawn and Undercity will be far safer from penetration by the Litch King if he finds out where she is."

"Why is that?"

"They understand her value against him. Humans are too blind with hatred. They will work especially hard to protect her. And most Forsaken are undyingly loyal to Sylvanis. She will know if a Scourge is trying to enter her lands. Besides, better she bring an attack to Sylvanis then to the human capital."

* * *

Varimathras eyed the newest addition to Sylvanis's throne room. The girl had yet to be introduced to the Argent Dawn, but she did not seem stressed about this. He had been stuck babysitting her whilst Sylvanis went off to collect maps and reports, and he watched her with some curiosity. She appeared to be meditating… But from what the exNathreziem could feel, her mind was far, far away from the chamber they were now in.

"Ketala?" he inquired. The whirling eyes opened, looking straight at him. "What, exactly, requires your mental presence to be a country away from here?" She eyed him a moment, evidently still trying to decide what to think of the clearly evil demon.

"Business," she answered. He scowled, showing fang, and came up next to her, each hoof leaving a flaming track on the ground.

"Do not speak to me with such disrespect," he hissed out.

"Be quiet, Varimathras, or whenever I do meet the Argent Dawn, I will alert them to what you are and play Sylvanis as an innocent victim." His eyes flamed with blue rage, power flaring around his fingers. "Though if you do be quiet, I can assure you I will prevent my paladin acquaintances from telling them so- as said acquaintances already know." He paused, glaring down at her and letting her words sink in. Then he growled to himself, eyes filled with rage, his wings and clawed hands lowering. Ketala eyed him, and then stood up slowly, eyeing him up and down. She then proceeded to walk around him, eyeing him from all sides. "You're pants don't have a back to them. You know that, right?" He glared at her. "What, that's just kinda gross. Who wears backless armor? That's where daggers tend to come from."

"You think any assassin can match the might of a dreadlord?"

"It seems an undead banshee does."

"Sylvanis is noth-"

"Sylvanis, is?" asked said high elf banshee from the entrance of the room. Varimathras fell silent, bowing in respect to his leader. "No, no, go on." Varimathras winced, lowering his head.

"Sylvanis is nothing," he murmured weakly. She laughed lightly, patting him on one horn, and looked at Ketala.

"I give you credit, half elemental. Most people cannot get him to blunder so badly in his wording."

"He gets angry too quickly. He needs to learn to control himself."

"If I may ask, what were you doing?"

"Searching mentally for Kel'Thuzad. Do you know where he is?"

"In fact, I do." She said with a wry smile, drawing out several map and kneeling down, spreading them out. Varimathras just watched; his anger simmered down as the two went over battle plans and various troop arrangements.

* * *

Ketala reached out with her mind that night, still waiting in Sylvanis's throne room, meditating in the corner in silence. However, the being she found was not the creature she remembered. Where before, there had been malice and cruelty, there was now sadistic hatred. Without even touching his conscious, she receded, face drawn with pain. Kel'Thuzad was no longer the least bit human. He was gone. She curled up against Thrash's sleeping side, and sighed to herself, reaching out to all the other consciousness's she had drawn out, and continued her work for their freedom.

* * *

Ketala's eyes opened a thread's breadth. There were voices speaking. Sylvanis was seeing someone. She didn't move, listening as the voices became more distinct. Most of the voices were warmer sounding, more alive. Humans. Then there was Sylvanis… Another voice piped up, sounding amused, innocent and… island. The thick accent was once she had never heard before. The forth type of voice was equally strange, aloof and smooth in quality, though riddled with more madness and threatening undertones then even Varimathras could manage. Thrash stirred, grumbling in his sleep, and the voices hushed. The maddened one was silent a moment and then asked,

"A Nightsaber? What is _that_ doing here?"

"The undead at its side is the newest addition to the Argent Dawn and my forces," Sylvanis answered in a liquid tone. The Nightsaber is her mount."

"Nightsabers are not known to be friendly outside of the Night Elf race…"

"Which is why she caught my curiosity.

"Caught your attention?" asked one human. "So she was not Forsaken to begin with?"

"She was a deserter of the Scourge," Sylvanis allowed, and Ketala could almost see the Banshee glaring down with distaste at whatever human was talking. Sylvanis hated humans.

"Why does she sleep?" asked the insane sounding one.

"Good question," Sylvanis murmured. Ketala lifted her head, her whirling eyes opening. She eyed the ensemble, from the small human to the quiet, towering green male in black armor, to the slender greenish female with the strange hair, the demonic looking insane ones. Then she shook Thrash gently, the massive panther yawning and standing up with her. Ketala nodded her head lightly in respect, standing up and effortlessly hopping up onto the large, raised dais.

"As much as I love being spoke about for how adorable I look in my sleep, it's a bit impolite. Sylvanis chuckled lightly, looking over at her.

"Sleep well, little half elemental?"

"Would have if it wasn't so ruddy cold down here."

"That's what I was thinking," muttered the green female.

"Ketala, these are ambassadors from the Horde and Alliance. Be polite." Ketala smirked innocently, nodding as her panther leapt onto the dais behind her.

"They're here to ensure you don't attempt to poison the entire human race." Sylvanis lifted a brow, eyeing the girl a bit upset.

"It is nothing, Sylvanis. She is right," said the small Human. "Everyone knows your goals. We are here to further one of them." The insane demonic one spoke up.

"I, personally, would happily aid you in ruthlessly shredding the Litch King. We will offer our aid and peace with all Kalimdor if you agree to leave the western kingdom be and seriously consider negotiations with the humans."

"Kalimdor is not the border we feud on. It is the Humans to the south that oppress us, and by my knowledge, Jaina Proudmoore, you hold no power there. 'Negotiations' will do nothing."

"Sylvanis," murmured Ketala before she managed to zone out again. "The paladins of Stormwind will not trust you. But they can be persuaded to attack a common foe, especially if they see the entire rest of the world lined up against the same enemy. Besides, my old friends there have the ear of the King's Protector. A cease-fire, if not a peace treaty, will be beneficial in the war against Arthas. And past that, the Proudmoore Fleets are the single fastest and most powerful ships on the waters, even excelling NightElf craft in many categories. As Northrend is an island currently overpopulated with undead, watercraft are the most important assets you could have for a head-on assault." Everyone stared at her for a moment before Sylvanis nodded slowly.

"To add to that," the green female continued, "Illidan and I are allies with the Naga, water elves left over by the corruption of the Well of Eternity. They too will prove invaluable against Northrend."

"Satyr and Naga, eh?" the Banshee queen asked, looking at the violet demonic figure. "Now all you are missing are-"

"Blood Elves?"

Sylvanis was never surprised. Or at least, no one had ever really seen the Dark Lady outwitted before. But it was as if fate (or Mahi) had brought together the perfect ensemble of characters to break down her walls and allow for a full attack against the Litch King. There, standing in the entryway of the throne room was her prince, Kael'Thalas, the last of the Sunstrider line. His face was darkened by pain and suffering, but his eyes were softened by so long having been around Zul'vii's tainting kindness. Where he might once have lapsed into magic-obsessed insanity like Illidan before him, Kael had become more accepting like Vashj…

And still striving to live, like Zul'vii's Satyr managed to do.

Sylvanis's eyes were rimmed with gray and pink, her skin and hair white and her armor gray and black, decorated only with death. But she would be undyingly loyal to her people. In front of everyone, she lowered to one knee and let her head drop.

"My prince…"

Kael'Thalas came up the stairs to the dais, looking curiously and sadly down at his former Ranger General. She certainly did not look the way he remembered: perky almost, and filled with life, strength, and honor. Slowly, he knelt, reaching forward and pushing some of her white hair out of the way. Her eyes lifted, glowing lightly, and she looked at him.

"Sylvanis?"

"Yes, my prince."

"… You fell… trying to protect our people in Quel'Thalas…"

"It was not by my desire that I did not remain in the grave." He was silent a moment, looking her over.

"You shouldn't bow, you know. You're the leader now." She blinked, taken a bit aback. If blood still ran through her veins, she would be blushing. Gently, he took her upper arms and pulled her to her feet, smiling at her. "You're still far, far too tall. You know that, right?" She smiled lightly, lowering her head.

"It is good to see you survived the fall, my prince. But what are you doing here?"

"Zul'vii and Illidan told me they were going to make an attack on Northrend and were seeking you as an ally. I heard your name and inquired on you. Of course I could not remain in Kalimdor if there was… … any hope you were the same…"

"And what have you decided on that similarity."

"Don't fool yourself, Sylvanis, you were always an ice queen." He grinned, smiling up at her. "Same as ever." The Banshee Ranger smiled wryly and nodded.

"I will allow this help then. Though I expect the attacks from the southern lands to cease." She eyed Jaina dangerously. Unanimously, Jaina and Kael answered,

"They will."

* * *

Keever sighed in relief. He had watched every wall of the Dark Lady peel away until her fortifications were gone, but it was still an immense relief to hear the Banshee agree to their plot. Mahi smiled, gently stroking through his maroon hair. She turned and phased through a wall, pulling him with him, and they materialized on the floor in the main Apothecarium chamber.

_You remember this place darkly now, don't you?_ She asked softly. He shuddered and nodded, pressing against her and half hiding his face in her clothes. _Why?_ He blinked his one good eye and then shook his head, unsure as to why. Mahi was silent a moment, and then she drifted down the stairs to halt beside another apothecary. He was giving instructions to what Keever could tell was a reanimated undead. It appeared to have been an experiment that had died and then been revived, for half its head was plastered in blood and brains, and it looked like a splice between a humanoid and an endless array of hooked limbs. He blinked, looking at it curiously and wondering as to why Mahi had brought him in this direction. The undead nodded. It had not been revived with sentience- no, the Forsaken never revived anything _they_ had destroyed with the soul intact, for that would only be continuing Arthas's crimes, but all minions needed to have a limited understanding of what their master wanted. It served as this undead's assistant and pet now, a tortured and destroyed form of undeath. The being turned toward them and Keever's good eye went wide. That face! The half Night-Elf's soulless eyes gazed through them, it's pleasant, kind face distorted in anguish. It moved in a disgusting fashion, organs pumping toxic green ooze onto the floor around it, clawed limbs pawing at the air around it.

Mahi was silent as Keever flat out screamed, struggling against the Mahi, pawing at her, clutching at her, pushing his face into her clothes, shuddering with undead sobs. Cold tears formed, another gift from Mahi, and washed over his cheeks as he sobbed miserably against the divine being. She let his grief rack him for a moment, so that he could understand it for what it was, and then she wrapped her arms around him, picking him up and hugging him tightly. He cried, tortured by what he'd just seen, wrapping his arms around her neck, half hyperventilating even though he no longer needed air save in the most scant amounts.

_That's what you hate. You hate what you did. You hate having been so empty and heartless. You hurt many. The man you killed in the cage next to her. The female you killed after locking her in her cage. So many you've killed that you don't even remember._ He just kept sobbing, skeletal chest heaving in pain. _I'm sorry, Keever… Please don't cry anymore… I'm sorry… But you needed to understand… that what your people did was wrong…I…_ The Mahi fell silent a moment, phasing into the outside world this time, where the stench of death was not so overwhelming. _Keever… Keever, shhh… shhh… It's okay… Don't cry, it's okay…_ He shuddered violently, whimpering against her in pained sighs as she stroked his cheek and hair. _I'm sorry… Don't cry anymore… You have changed- you aren't like them… Shhhhh… Don't cry… Don't cry… _He sighed out, his arms tightening around her neck, and she smiled, hugging back a bit tighter. _There… Don't cry… _

"…Mahi…"

_I'm sorry. You needed to understand. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause you such pain._ He shuddered, lifting his head and looking at her.

"The others… they didn't even noticed her… she wasn't… horrible at all to them."

_Death has taken away their sensitivity. Life has given it back to you. They do not value life or innocence. Those among them that do don't care enough to speak out. They have lost what made them good or evil. Now they are nothing. You are different. Your pain might be horrible, but it is only because it came from the destruction of something that might have given you joy. You can feel both. And feeling pain is a small price to pay for happiness. _She tenderly stroked his back, not minding the exposed spine. He quivered, laying his head on her shoulder, tears dripping down his cheeks. _Do you remember your life? Before you were undead? _He shook his head against her, touching some of the tears and looking at them in bewilderment. _Come, let's go somewhere quiet for you to rest. I have been so busy, I have not truly gotten a chance to talk to you alone since we've met._

"…It's okay… Keever does not mind…" She smiled, embracing him a bit tighter.

_I do. Come on, I'll carry you. _He looked up at her a moment and then closed his good eye, letting her loop his legs up into one of her arms. He was silent as she phased with him, reappearing in a small glade bordered by trees. She looked around and then gave a flick of her hand, a stretch of blankets and a few pillows appearing. She smiled, gently setting the undead down and sitting beside him. She conjured some soup broth for him and fed it to him. She didn't seem at all to mind that her companion lacked a lower jaw, or to mind the violent tongue, gently pouring the broth over said appendage and down his throat. He was quiet, letting her feed him, and then lowered his head when she was done, his maroon hair falling in front of his face, and his burning amber eye regarding the ground.

"… How did I die?" he asked after a moment.

_You died twice. The first time, you were revived before your soul had departed from your body. The second time, it was rudely latched back to your corpse as you were forced back into life._

"How did I die the first time?"

_You were senselessly butchering orc children after all the warriors of their clan had been defeated. One of their mothers came at you with a dagger, put your eye out, and you bled to death, revived by priests moments after you expired._ He convulsed lightly, clutching his slender waist.

"And the second time?"

_You were beaten to death for not sounding the alarm when the internment camps were broken in to. You had an epiphany, per se, when you saw that woman fighting tooth and nail for her children. Killing her was probably what caused you to give up and die that first time. It was a blow to the head that dislodged and shattered your jaw that killed you the second, but you died with a smile. _He looked up at her, silent. She was gazing at him silently, forgivingly, and he shuddered, disgusted with himself. Mahi merely smiled, reaching out and stroking what he had of a cheek. _Don't cry. You've changed for the better again. Everything will be fine._

"It was my fault she died…"

_You couldn't have done anything for her, Keever. She would have died either way._ Tears dripped down his cheeks and he stared at the ground. _I don't blame you. And neither would see. Don't blame yourself…_She reached over, gently wrapping her arms around him and holding him close.

"…… …. Mahi…?"

_Yes?_

"Why do MahiMahi chose companions?"

_We get lonely._ He gazed up at her. _So we find a friend who will love us and stay with us through thick and thin…_ He lowered his head, staring at the ground a long moment. Then, slowly, he lifted a hand and touched her light brown cheek, the dagger-like finger tips stroking over it with utmost gentleness. Her eyes closed and she leaned lightly against his hand. _Thank you, Keever…_ He smiled weakly, leaning against her, and gently hugged the divine being.

"How do MahiMahi die?" he asked suddenly.

_MahiMahi are immortal. We die by giving our lives for our companions. _He froze up, his good eye widening, and he stared up at her.

"But…"

_Sleep Keever. Don't think about it._ She tenderly kissed him on the forehead, drawing him tenderly against her. He quivered, eye wide, laying against her, and he was silent.

* * *

"That went surprisingly well," murmured Thrall once the group was safely back in Stormwind. They were in an expansive network of rooms provided for them as the embassy from Theramore, and safe from prying human eyes.

"My seer is the one who suggested we bring Kael'Thalas." Kael blinked, looking up at Zul'vii. "We told you on purpose. We knew you'd come," she continued with a smile. "He told Illidan to come along because Sylvanis would love any Anti-Arthas sentiments. Sorry if you feel a bit used, Kael." He shook his head, looking back at his lap, still sorting through his thoughts. Thrall glanced at Zul'vii and tilted his head to the side.

"Seers normally have visions that help people in quests- not start them."

"He sent me to find Illidan in Northrend too."

"Unusual seer."

"Yes well, he was acting under advice this time. Might have been acting under advice last time."

"No," butted in Illidan, quickly, "The Mahi never intervenes before choosing a companion." Everyone blinked, looking at him.

"The Mahi?" asked Jaina, lifting a brow. Zul'vii lifted a brow, looking at him.

"What makes you say that, Illidan?" she asked.

"Thrall, the Undercity was created when Arthas abandoned Lordaeron to go to Northrend, right?" The orc nodded, interested in the conversation.

"Keever was an apothecary in the Undercity. She found him quite recently, between my fight with Arthas and now."

"Ah, so she's new at this?" Zul'vii said with a smirk.

"What is the Mahi?" asked Jaina, still confused.

"An 8 foot tall divine being. Don't worry, I don't expect you to believe us. After all, I'm the same person who claims my parents live in my head, and he's ten feet tall with hooves." Illidan scowled, crossing his legs, and sharpening his warblades. "If it comforts you any, there's an angel following us around intent on seeing us to victory. Cheers." She smirked, hopping down on one of the couches and kicking her feet up onto one of the arm rests, eyeing the craftsmanship of her axes. "So, we just lingering around here until tomorrow?"

"Yes," murmured Jaina, thoughtful, looking intently at the troll. "Tell me, what did this angel look like?"

"She's a shape shifter," muttered Illidan. "Takes any form she wants. When we saw her she had green hair and light brown skin."

"Not much to go on. You said she had chosen an undead 'companion'?"

"Yes," piped up Zul'vii. "

"And I assume his form is stationary."

"Yes. He has maroon hair, and lacks a jaw. And he only has one eye. Often refers to himself in the third person."

"Stunning companion for an angel," muttered one of Jaina's councilors.

"'Cast downeth thoust righteousness, healer, for only thy sick needeth cure, and only thy wounded needeth healing. With thy soul, matters arst the same. Why lingereth with those pure and strong, healer, when thy wounded languisheth in sufferings?'" The councilor perked up, staring at the source of this quote, the half troll Zul'vii.

"That was from the Tome of Light!" he gasped.

"Ah yes. I am well versed in many things, and I am certainly versed in scripture," she said, carefully scraping some excess wood from the handle of one of her tomahawks. "Do not think that because my skin is green that I have no soul or mind." The councilor fell silent, eyeing her. "We have two rooms too few. I'll take one of the couches, Illidan can have the other."

"You are our guests, Zul'vii," Jaina said, protesting.

"Yes, but someone's gotta keep an eye on him." She jerked her thumb at Illidan, who growled. "Who knows, he might try summoning Sargaras into his bedroom."

"I WOULD NOT!" He snarled, jumping up and glaring down at her, tense and holding both warblades tightly.

"Night, Illidan." She dropped her tomahawk and rolled over, curling up against the couch and going to sleep. Kael blinked and burst out laughing, getting up slowly. Illidan just scowled, eying all the people who were now staring at him, and then sat down again, setting down his blades.

"Don't dwell on it, Lord Illidan. I'm heading to bed for the night. May I just pick a room or do people have preferences?"

"No, any room," murmured Jaina.

"I had a thought," said Zul'vii sleepily. "If Varimathras obeys Sylvanis and Sylvanis obeys Kael, and Kael obeys Illidan, and Illidan takes my advice on the best ways to avoid demons, does that make it okay for me to bully Varimathras?"

"No. Now shut up and go to bed," grumbled the night elf, sitting down to meditate. Jaina smiled and turned to Thrall, waving lightly. She bid her councilors good night and then went off to bed, soon followed by everyone else.

* * *

Illidan grumbled, lifting his head as he was shaken. One of his arms snapped up and grabbed the hand of the person who had disturbed him, squeezing tightly.

"Illidan, look," Zul'vii said, unperturbed by the fact that her bones could be heard grinding together. He turned his head and blinked as he saw Jaina Proudmoore walking across the center of the room.

"Wh-?" She put a hand over his mouth and leaned over again, whispering in his ear as he let go of her hand.

"She's sleepwalking." Illidan blinked, mystified.

"Why?"

"Dunno. Only time I've ever seen someone sleepwalk was under severe stress." Zul'vii slowly stood up, moving silently up to Zul'vii.

"…What do we do?" Illidan asked quietly, coming up and eyeing the woman, never having heard of sleepwalking before.

"We shouldn't wake her up; it would be a bit of a shock… I'll try to get her to her room. It's almost morning anyway, so at least if she stays in one place, she'll wake up eventually on her own." She slowly, gently touched Jaina's shoulders and steered the poor human toward her door. Jaina shifted lightly, but didn't wake, walking obediently toward it. Illidan snorted but was otherwise silent, watching Zul'vii carefully open the door… There was a loud sound of shattering plates and Jaina's eyes flashed open. A look of confusion crossed her face and she swooned, collapsing. Zul'vii caught her and Illidan whirled around to see the sound of the noise. There was a very frightened maid standing there, eyes wide. On the ground in front of her were broken plates and bits of food from a breakfast that she had brought to their room. With lightning speed, Illidan was behind her, shutting the door. The woman whimpered, backing up into a couch and tumbling over it, onto her back in the seat and then into a sprawl on the floor. Illidan peered over the couch at her, lifting a brow, and then looked at Zul'vii.

"Whe…where am I…?" murmured Jaina, swallowing hard.

"You were sleepwalking, Miss Proudmoore," Zul'vii said gently. "We tried not to wake you up… but apparently 10 foot tall demons frighten maids." Jaina's eyes focused on the maid and she looked up at Illidan. The demon merely shrugged.

"If you hadn't sleepwalked, the whole city would currently know you have a troll and a Night Elf in your embassy, so consider it a stroke of luck." Jaina stood slowly, straightening herself.

"What are you doing to her?" Illidan's nose curled.

"I am not _doing_ anything to her. I shut the door so she wouldn't warn the city, and she fell backwards over the couch."

"What is all the racket?" rumbled Thrall from his door, where he was rubbing one side of his face. He blinked, seeing the maid, and he eyed the rest of the assembly curiously. Zul'vii sighed.

"Jaina was sleepwalking for some unknown reason. It woke me up. I woke Illidan up. The maid came in and dropped some plates, which woke Jaina up. Illidan closed the door behind the maid so she couldn't run screaming 'Troll' to the entire city, the maid fell over a couch, and Thrall woke up asking, "What is all the racket?" So now, what do we do with the maid?"

Illidan shrugged, sitting back on the couch and causing the maid to squeal, jump to her feet, and to dash madly for the nearest corner, where she huddled in pure, unadulterated terror. Zul'vii sighed and walked over to the maid, grabbing her by the arm. She cried out as Zul'vii lifted her to her feet.

"Come on now, I'm not gonna hurt you, human." The woman swallowed, backing into the corner again. Zul'vii sighed, scratching her head, and then reached forward, touching the woman's forehead. The girl's eyes rolled up and she whimpered quietly before going still and collapsing, sound asleep. "Okay, at least now she's asleep. Now what do we do with her?"

Jaina shook her head. "I do not know… She will not forget what she's seen…" Zul'vii was silent a moment, musing to herself.

"Nupe, fresh out of ideas. If we knew where she lived, we could dump her back in her bed and she could think she dreamt the whole thing. Sadly, we don't know that," the half troll muttered.

"We could bring her to Sylvanis. Nathreziem drink blood," Illidan offered with a smug smirk. Zul'vii glared at him and he chuckled, toying with one of his warblades. "Come up with a better idea."

"We are not going to kill the maid, Illidan."

"Come up with a better idea," he repeated, balancing it on one finger.


	14. Trua TheSavior

Okay, I haven't updated in awhile, but I have a reason. Last time everyone reviewed me, I posted two whole chapters in a span of two days and did not recieve a single review. I was so distressed, I lapsed into an unstable 'glaring' state, and have only now recovered from the resulting lack of work effort. I will not post a chapter after this if I do not recieve some reviews, because that will tell me no one is reading it any longer.

I have again gotten to my beautiful 8000 (8882 to be exact) word total, yayyyyyyyyyyy! This chapter concentrates mostly on Ketala. This is because, when I looked down at windows and saw the amount of pages required for an 8000 word post, I had only finished writing Ketala's part! Oh well :P Also, Varimathras almost faints. I'm sorry for all you non-existant Varimathras fans, but Varimathras rules as an uber powerful coward. If you are in any way offended by a Dreadlord nearly wetting his nonexistant pants, please do not continue reading. Also, if you are upset by the usage of faces, such as O.o, do not continue reading :P

I am sorry if this chapter is a bit erratic. If there is anything truly upsetting to you about its erraticy, feel free to REVIEW about it. :P I appologize heartily, and maintain my defense of 'the middle of a story is hard to write, because nothign really moves'. If you feel I have truly lost the art of description in any sections, let me know.

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**Trua, Savior**

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* * *

__Alive._

The ghouls smelled neither blood nor death. True, it had been a long, long time since this battle occurred, but the abomination corpses still lay there, rotting with a horrible stench. Ketala's body was not there. There was no smell of her blood beneath all the rot. A ghoul yowled, and Kel'Thuzad felt the newfound information from the skeletal creature.

A dead ghoul, covered in Ketala's scent. It would have taken a long time for an undead's scent to so fully cover something else- as they did not perspire. And everyone knew that perspiration wasthe key agent used in defining scent. This was evidently another pet of Ketala's. Its death had caused the fiery emotion in her, had given her the strengthto so easily butcher its powerful killer. But this was no proof that she was alive- there, dried salt over one of the ghoul's clawed hands.

Ketala had cried. She had survived, made it over to this ghoul, and cried.

_Alive. Ketala is alive._

_Find her. _Kel'Thuzad's mind flew through the possibilities, and he came up with one possible outcome.

Ketala had gone with the humans. Too few human corpses littered the ground. Ketala, thusly, had not killed them. When she entered this battle, her intent had been on saving the humans.The Litch ran through his mind the closest way to Stormwind. Shades detached from the main group of undead, hurling off into the darkness. The rest of the undead formed a strict perimeter and body guard for their commander, and stood silent as Kel'Thuzad directed the shades.

Further along, they found more proof. Kel'Thuzad gave a minor indication of surprise as the shades examined the dust of several banshees destroyed with holy energy. No dead humans. No possessions? Could it be possible that Ketala could recognize and purge banshees and their possessions?

The notion irritated his master. Banshees were employed frequently by Sylvanis. If Ketala could so easily detect and destroy them, Ner'zhull _had_ lost a _very_ valuable asset.

Shades did not have the sense of smell that ghouls did, but they found the trail none-the-less. With a few ghouls dispatched from Kel'Thuzad, and the death of a few human scouts, Kel'Thuzad had the information he wanted. Cat droppings, scents and tiny bits of fur. Horse blood, irregularly large hoof prints and smaller, horse hoof prints. Two sides had fought over possession over Ketala. The humans, apparently, and another party.

Judging by the fact that there was only one Dreadlord, Kel'Thuzad deduced that Sylvanis had also been there, but because she was a banshee and undead, the ghouls could not detect her. The Dreadlord had been her bodyguard and majordomo, Varimathras. And the human had been a paladin.

And both choices infuriated his master. Arthas could not even bare the idea of Sylvanis wielding his precious weapon, and the idea of paladins using her disgusted him even more. Thus, Kel'Thuzad endured a long moment of mental abuse. Both cities would have to be watched carefully… Very carefully...

And both cities would, undoubtedly, be two of the most difficult to watch. Sylvanis's mental prowess would make shades hard to hide in her base. There were already shades spread throughout Stormwind, but they could get in very few important areas. Everything was guarded by magical detection symbols.

But then…

_I will try something, my master. Perhaps she will answer me if I call for her._

_Do so, _his master answered irritably. Kel'Thuzad's glowing eyes flared dark blue as his mind reached across vast space, first to Stormwind. After a few hours of searching, he turned his attention to the Undercity and tried again.

_Ketala…? _Nothing. _Ketala…… _Nothing. He grumbled to himself, pondering over his choice of words. _Little One…? _Loaded silence. He almost purred in pleasure, feeling the pent up presence. Still, he had to make sure… _Ket…? Can you hear me, my little one…?_ A small stirring. _Oh… Ketala… I'm here…_ He was not prepared for her to attack him. His mind was suddenly seized upon and assaulted. He screamed silently, bombarded by a million sorrows, hatreds, and pains. He had thought himself a powerful psychic, but he could only erect a flimsy shield against the onslaught.

Kel'Thuzad shuddered, clutching his head many hours later. Ketala's attack had lasted seconds, but he was still reeling. She had poured an army into one, fast blow.

_Undercity…_ murmured Arthas in rage. _Well done, my servant._

_My pleasure, my master. Ketala is young and irrational. Her attack on me was well worth the price she gave._

_Something my will can curb._

_She will be yours again, my master. And perhaps Sylvanis can fall in the same blow._

_That is unlikely… But… you have your chance… _Kel'Thuzad chuckled inwardly, standing slowly and pushing off the pain in his skull. With a command to his troops, he headed back to the Western Plaguelands, the shades bound on a course for the Undercity.

Ketala groaned softly, tears streaming down her face, her fingers latched against her skull through her hair. Varimathras watched her with interest, never having seen an undead shed tears before. He could feel her mental presence stronger then ever, somewhere out in the wilderness.

"Ketala…?" he asked, coming up to her. Despite the fact that he seethed for vengeance, he was also curious, eager to learn what new powers were at his Lady's disposal. She didn't move. The Dreadlord lifted a hairless brow, and then reached forward, his clawed fingers slowly poking her shoulder. Her head snapped up, looking at him with sickly blue eyes... And then she jumped up, latching to him. Varimathras cocked his head to the side and then started snarling and muttering in the infernal language.

What was it with women and immediately latching to him for comfort? And then getting mad at him if he couldn't provide it? What the hell did they think he was, anyways, a big bat-shaped teddy bear? He was a ruddy Nathrezeim! … Ex-nathrezeim… But still! Still, Sylvanis would be pissed if he got in another fight with the undead paladin. And he needed information. Varimathras grumbled to himself, cold blue eyes blazing out hate. But he patted her lightly on the head and waited for her let go. She did, eventually, and plopped back on the ground.

"Now, what the hell is the matter with you?" he hissed, crouching quickly and grabbing her jaw in one hand. "What is it that you can do?" She squirmed for a moment, but she was worn down from whatever had happened, so she was freer with her tongue.

"Kel'Thuzad knows I'm here." Varimathras's face contorted and he snarled.

"And how did that happen?"

"He baited me into attacking him mentally."

"That alone couldn't possibly have you so upset."

"You couldn't understand, Dreadlord. You don't feel emotions like humans do." He snorted.

"Tell me something I can report to Sylvanis."

"He baited me with filial love." The Dreadlord blinked.

"For Kel'Thuzad?"

"Yes."

"But he killed you."

"He also raised me. And he was the one who let me go. And for that, Arthas destroyed him mentally to eradicate what was left of his humanity."

"But you have emotion. You cared about the litch, and he knew it." She nodded.

"I'm sorry."

"A pathetic weakness."

"So he thinks. Incapacitating him mentally left me time to…" She trailed off, looking at the ground.

"Time to…? What can you do, Ketala? Why is it you spend so much of your time with your body in this chamber and your mind out of it?" She toyed with the edge of her cloak and then looked at him.

"Do you have any captured scourge ghouls?" He pondered a moment and then nodded.

"Bring me to one, and I'll show you in Sylvanis's absence." He eyed her a moment, and then nodded, standing. She stood slowly and he waited till she gained her feet. Then he started walking, and she trailed behind. He took her out and guided her to the war quarter. There were Deathstalker trainees in that quarter, battling against each other. A type of summoner, a warlock or mage, stood at the head of the group, occasionally summoning other monsters for them to battle. Varimathras lead her toward the woman and stopped, told her to stay put, and then went up to the mage on his own, speaking with her. The summoner nodded, andKetala watched a devilish smile flash over her rotton face. Instead of one ghoul… sixteen appeared. Varimathras blinked and glared at the woman, but everyone apparently wanted to make sure Ketala could hold her own in battle. Rumors were one thing- they wanted to see proof.

The other trainees jumped backwards in alarm, aseach one wasincapable of taking on two ghouls alone, much less this many. Ketala blinked, and was just about to take a step backwards, when she realized something. Arthas and Kel'Thuzad had no jurisdiction over these things. They were wild, without master or cause. She smiled and rushed her aura forward as they charged at her, forcing it gently into their minds. The ghouls reached her, but instead of attacking, they milled around her, brushing against her and chattering. Everyone stared, including the Dreadlord, as Ketala chuckled, reaching down and stroking one of the ghouls' rotting heads. It chattered, rubbing its head against her fingers. She lifted her eyes to the Dreadlord and smiled. A real, actual, normal smile.

"So, can I keep them?"

Sylvanis lifted a brow as she entered her throne chamber and found Ketala sitting down in her corner, a ghoul crouched at her side and nuzzling against her. She turned her gaze to Varimathras, who shrugged.

"She can charm, like I can?" Sylvanis asked curiously.

"She turned 16 scourge ghouls into happy puppies in a matter of 3 seconds," he muttered back. "To avoid making a scene by her breaking down crying, I let her keep one," he continued, evidently baffled. Ketala watched the two rulers, gently stroking the ghoul's pale cheek.

"Strange. For a being so sensitive, she has no reaction to gore," Sylvanis remarked.

"Kel'Thuzad found her mentally. He prodded at her. She was sensitive enough to attack him mentally when he started preying on more… daughterly feelings she seems to have for him."

"Oh? A daughter with vengeance. I like her more and more every moment. I will be sure to keep my eye out for shades."

"Sixteen, my lady…"

"Ketala?" The girl looked directly at her, questioningly. "How is it you can so easily curb the scourge to your will?" She was silent a moment, and then shook her head.

"It's different then that…"

"How so?"

"… I can give the mindless a conscious… I can make the ghouls feel… And then, I can make things with very weak consciousnesses… 'like' me. I don't know why." Sylvanis blinked, surprised.

"Which is why Thrash seems as intelligent as any human, and is very loyal to you…"

"Yes."

"How far you can reach?"

"The only reason I could snag these sixteen so easily was because there was no other driving force for me to contend with. For me to try and possess Kel'Thuzad would be impossible, for example." Ketala wasn't ready to unveil her plot yet, or make Sylvanis aware of how valuable she really was. She didn't want Sylvanis to yet know that Ketala could silently slide into the conscious of scourge, and slowly, gently coax a conscious, all without ever giving an indication that she wasthere. Sylvanis sighed and nodded, disappointed, but Varimathras's eyes narrowed. He was far more intelligent then most gave him credit for, and he knew she was hiding something. The Banshee Queen turned to him, and his expression went instantly impassive. The two conferred a moment, and both eventually left, leaving Ketala to the ghoul beside her. Unlike with Eldiaren, Ketala did not need to hide her gift. She lavished it upon the small ghoul, playing with it and teaching it. Its name came up- Jerod, and it was quickly using her own name when addressing her.

After some time, Ketala grew bored, and she stood up, looking around. Thrash grumbled, but turned over, closing his eyes again. She smiled, patting the massive shaggy beast on the head. Qkiloden had once told her that he doubted the beast was a Nightsaber Panther, or even a Nightsaber Tiger. Rather, he thought it was a hitherto unknown species- a Nightsaber Lynx. Its long, soft hair, tufted ears, and large paws gave it away, he said. But, whatever it was, Ketala did not mind. Bored,the half elementalturned back to the ghoul. She called it to her side, and set off on a walk.

It was Ketala's first time walking around Undercity on her own. She had never really seen much of the city, and she was surprised at the human, if very morbid, attitudes of the inhabitants. Instead of the scourge's mindless brutes, there were instead bitter, but very free-willed humanoids. As it was the closest, she first wandered into the Apothecarium. Unbothered by gore and undeath, Ketala walked past the giant meaty abominations guarding the entrance, tentatively touching their minds. Like all abominations, they were very responsive, if not at all humanoid, to her commands, and they immediately went rigidly still, staring at her. She released her hold on them, and kept walking, heading down into the lower levels of the gruesome area. The humanoid and abomination parts that hung from the walls and ceiling did not phase her, and she watched the apothecaries scuttle around with curiosity, slowly rubbing her ghoul's elongated forehead. One of them stopped and looked at her, blinking. Her eyes turned to his and he shivered, looking away. Apparently she could touch any undead, even if it was only slightly.

Ketala continued wandering around the Apothecarium, silent but curious. Those undead that she made eye contact with turned away immediately. They did not call for her to leave, but it was evident that her presence somehow unnerved them. Bewildered, she continued walking, trying to figure out the cause of this discomfort. Pausing mid-step, Ketala blinked, staring up as a strange creature lumbered by her. It looked humanoid… or like it had been humanoid once. It had the soft purple tint of a night elf, and long ears, but it was covered in green slime, and possessed no arms or legs.In the stead ofsuch limbs, ithadlong, clawed appendages.Without legs, theabominationwas walking upright by means of four clawed appendages that worked like centaur or spider legs. Gently,Ketala reached over,touching its mind. The creature locked up, and Ketala smiled, slowly reaching forward and touching its hair.

_There… be still… It's alright…_ She felt its mind churning, even if its body succeeded in nothing. After a moment, she pushed it onwards, and it started walking again, going on to whatever tasks it had been assigned. Ketala looked around for a moment more, and then headed off again. There was a whole city to explore, and this was only a tiny segment of it.

After riding the elevator around 60 times just for the fun of it, Ketala stepped out into the Undercity courtyard. Finding nothing of interest there, she continued walking, heading out of the city all together. Never worried about getting lost, for she had an uncanny memory, she started off.

When Ketala returned back to the Throne Room late that night, she was greeted by Sylvanis and Varimathras like two angry parents, both crossing their arms and glaring down at her. Ketala blinked, just gazing up at them innocently. "… What…?"

Sylvanis was in deep discussion with Kael, Jaina, and Thrall, all of them going over detailed battle plans and propositions to the human governing bodies. As they worked, Varimathras watched Ketala silently. Her mind was elsewhere again, and he longed to ask her about what she had not told Sylvanis. Still, he dare not mention anything so close to the Banshee Queen- as she would inevitably pick it up with her acute hearing.

Sylvanis had been furious. All yesterday, she had been unable to locate the girl, and thus her fury had built up by the time Ketala returned. Still, the innocent look on Ketala's face had told her that the girl's mistake had been an honest one, and she had simply been reprimanded for not mentioning where she was. Varimathras almost smiled just remembering the look on Sylvanis's face when Ketala looked up at them, bewildered, and simply asked, "What?"

"Varimathras?" Sylvanis snapped, looking at him. The demon immediately bowed his head lightly, looking at her for orders. "Remain here." She looked at several of her elite guards and gestured for them to follow her as a bodyguard. "Our guests could use a tour. Perhaps they would like to visit the Apothecarium first?" Varimathras concealed another smile as the bodyguard proceeded off, rigidly surrounding their dark lady and her visiting embassy. The demon smiled. Perfect. He came over by Ketala, smirking.

"Ketala."

"Ket," she insisted. He made a face of distaste.

"Ket," he allowed.

"Yes?"

"You were not telling Sylvanis the whole truth when you made your abilities out to be very weak. Your mind is out there every day. What are you doing?"

"Stuff." He breathed in hard, trying to control his rage, and closed his eyes for a moment. She would learn respect soon enough. He hoped. He wasn't sure if Sylvanis would condone him punishing her. He knelt, taking her chin in one clawed hand, and jerking her forward a bit. She waited a moment, and then her eyes opened. "Yes?" she asked, with a small tone of irritation.

"Do not speak to me like that. You are not my superior- not _yet._"

"You interrupted me. A little irritation is not out of place."

"Interrupted _what_, Ket?" She looked at him a long moment.

"Alright, I'll tell you things. But you have to tell me things." He lifted a white brow.

"Like what?"

"Why is one of your horns shorter then the other?" He frowned, but obliged, letting go of her chin.

"Sylvanis was angry with me." She blinked and covered her mouth, giggling.

"I can reach all minds, no matter how far away. I've just got to spend time looking for them."

"And you can only affect those that aren't sentient?"

"Why join Sylvanis? Why not betray her when fighting against your brethren?"

"Call it a hunch that she would win against them, whether I joined or not."

"I'm not sure what I can affect. I know I can affect all undead to a small extent, and I can affect shades very well. I can also affect anything nonsentient, and I've done so with undead, animals, and masonry." He blinked

"Masonry? … Gargoyals?" She laughed, nodding. "Why so curious about me?"

"Why so curious about me?"

"It's my responsibility to the Dark Lady. And for my own purposes. It is always good to know what your ally is capable of."

"I've just got pure simple curiosity."

"Ah. But don't you worry you will be detected if your power is out in the world every day?"

"No. I can subtly move through a mind, instating a consciousness, while, at the same time, producing the facade of an entirly mindless, willing servant. When I pull out of the undead mind, I can simply shove the conciousness away again, and it will wait, in whatever condition I left it, until my mind returns and reinstates it again."

"But without a mastermind in full control of them, when you attacked Kel'Thuzad, you took over his entire guard. Why not kill him?"

"Why do you not have any hair?"

"… What kind of question is that?"

"Are Nathrezeim born with hair?"

"No."

"It's not time to let Arthas know I'm there, or he might find a way to chase me out of the undead minds."

"You want firm control. You've infiltrated the minds of many, haven't you…?"

"If you have wings, why are you always walking?"

"They're too small for flight."

"Yes, I have infiltrated many."

"But they're on the frontlines. They'll die quickly."

"I've started in the back, all the way to Northrend itself, and to the heart of Kel'Thuzad's encampments." His eyes flared with curiosity.

"You have… you want to take everything over in one fell sweep…"

"With little room for mistake, and fewer deaths…"

"Why fewer deaths?"

"Are you loyal to Sylvanis? Would you die for her?"

"Yes."

"I care about every mind I touch. I can't help it. It's like having children. If one of them dies, a mother… at least a good, non-demon mother… would be saddened."

"I-" He paused, looking around, and then noticed the violet figure standing silently off to the side, unnoticed by the guards. Alarmed, he stood up, tensing. The violet figure smirked, stepping into the lighted area of the room and coming toward them, lifting his hands in a gesture of peace. "You should be with Sylvanis," the Dreadlord hissed out, eyeing him wearily.

"Our interest lies with the undead paladin," murmured another voice form the shadows, and the half troll cam out behind him.

"Why?" he asked darkly, glaring at her.

"Because she has a similar power to mine," the troll answered. "I can heal the souls of the sentient, and she can replace the souls of the mindless." Varimathras's eyes narrowed.

"We merely desire to talk to her," she said truthfully. "As you do." Ketala blinked, looking up at the two, and then she stood up, her hands resting on her scimitar hilts. Zul'vii sighed. Then she offered a five-fingered hand to the young undead. "Zul'vii." The undead blinked, lifting a brow, and Varimathras tensed. Then, slowly, Ketala reached forward a hand and took the troll's shaking it.

"You're tall," Ketala remarked.

"Most trolls are. Stand an average 8 feet tall."

"Wow. What about him?" Ketala looked at Illidan.

"Oh, Illidan? He's demon corrupted. He's normally about what… 7 and a half? 8 feet tall? You're taller then your brother and Tyrande, aren't you?"

"Something like that," he muttered.

"And how did that wound in your chest ever heal?" Ketala asked, staring up at the face of the demon hunter. Illidan blinked.

"What do you mean?"

"It has Arthas's taint to it. It was made by Frostmourne." Illidan stared at her. "You forget, I was Scourge once. Intelligent Scourge. I know Arthas's oppressive presence better than anyone."

"I healed him," Zul'vii said proudly. Ketala blinked at Zul'vii and then smiled.

"Your words are true. You're another miracle worker." Varimathras blinked at both of them and then backed down.

"Which is what we wanted to talk to you about." The Troll took in a deep breath.

"I have a seer, who was tipped off by a divine being to tell us to come here and help defeat Arthas. It would pacify Sylvanis and would allow us to concentrate on the true threat- the demons- once the Scourge was defeated. Since it would be a massive joint-race effort, it would also promote peace. In addition to that, you were also mentioned by the divine being, which is why we ditched Sylvanis to come talk to you."

"Prove it," Ketala said, crossing her arms, though her grin told them she believed they could prove it.

"Your name is Ketala Firhea, meaning servant of Ice, you were raised by Kel'Thuzad and sacrificed by him, you are very young, somewhere between 6 and 9, I think, your scimitars can be used to channel any type of elemental energy as well as divine-touched energy, such as holy or demonic, you were raised by paladins for the last few years in Stormwind, which is where we are staying, and there is currently a massive armada of your shades traversing the halls, helping to locate other spies."

"How did you know the last one?"

"I bumped into one and he apologized." Ketala giggled past her hand. "That and I feel them. I took have a sort of tainting aura like you do. Mine touches the sentient and non sentient in more subtle and healing ways."

"And this divine being… who is this?"

"Not sure, really. From what I gather from Illidan's short non-brooding moments in which he'll talk freely with me, she's kinda like an angel." Ketala docked her head to the side. "You don't know what that is?" She shook her head. "Oh… Well, human's interpretation of an angel is an otherworldly, beautiful being with long, cascading, feathering wings, who champions the causes of justice, mercy, and all those other good things."

"Ah."

"Strangely enough, she mentioned you and me as if we were her equals. I think that has to do with both our supernatural powers, though I haven't rightly figured it out yet." Ketala blinked, surprised. "She used the title 'slash' name for you of Trua, which, after reading many books in languages I don't understand, seems to mean 'compassion'. She called me by Curiato, which meaning 'healing'." She blinked, seeing Varimathras blanch. Ketala noticed too, both of them looking at him, watching him take a step away from both semi-divine mortals, staring at them both in mute horror and awe.

"And… this being's name…?" the Dreadlord asked after a moment.

"MahiMahi," said Illidan, watching Varimathras jump backwards and cringe, a look of satisfaction on the night-elf's face.

"Well," remarked Ketala, "she seems to have good references if she makes demons cringe." Zul'vii chuckled, smiling at the undead.

"We'll help you in whatever you be planning, Ketala. You can trust that we will. We want Arthas dead just as much as you and Sylvanis do." She paused for a moment, eyeing the girl. "And maybe I can help you with Kel'Thuzad. My presence, over time, has a calming effect on those sentient. I think that's why Illidan tolerates me, even though he at least half hates me. He's been stuck with annoying old me for awhile now." Illidan grunted in affirmation. Ketala stared at the two of them for a long moment, and then nodded.

"I've a question," she asked. Zul'vii lifted a brow. "How on earth did an elf and a troll get together? I heard they are supposed to be great enemies from the Dreadlord cowering over there in the corner."

"Elf _angel_, actually, which is part of the reason Illidan doesn't like me." She drew up the side of her shirt, enough to sneak out one glowing wing. Varimathras practically convulsed in his corner.

"Whoa O.o…" murmured Ketala, poking one.

"Yep. I think they're wings O.o They're good for flying, at any rate." She pulled the wing back in and pushed the edge of her shirt back down. "Anyway, we better catch up with Sylvanis and explain why we lingered. Keep in touch." She tapped a temple and smiled, turning and hurrying off, the Demonhunter right behind her. Ketala watched them go for a moment, sneaking easily around the elite guard as if they weren't even there. Then she turned and looked back at Varimathras. After a moment, she started walking towards him. He jerked away from her once, and then just sat there, a mess of horror and awe, as she came up in front of him and knelt down.

"It's alright, Varimathras, calm down…" He shuddered as she reached up and gently patted his shoulder. "Calm down. What would Sylvanis think if she saw you like this?" He quivered, not wanting to think about that. Ketala sighed and pushed her arms under the massive demon's, pulling him to his feet. He resisted for a moment, and then let himself be pulled up, weaving lightly.

The Burning Legion was like a flame that swept across the landscape, but a single angel was a tsunami to cover it up. And here, he had been in the presence of _two… _And the greatest, a _third_ angel, was out there somewhere! If these two knew their true power…

But they didn't. Varimathras mused on this, looking down at Ketala and managing not to flinch. She was impressionable. He could try to corrupt her…

Of course he was only a lowly Dreadlord, now fighting _against_ the rest of his brethren.

"You alright?" she asked. He shuddered lightly and nodded, regaining his composure. "You do realize you are an _EX_-Nathrezeim, right?" He blinked, staring at her. "As in, you are no longer with the Burning Legion. No divine beings have any reason to kill you, especially because Sylvanis has got you under her thumb." He shifted slightly, still not completely realizing he was hearing. "As in, you and the angels are fighting on the same side. They're not your enemy; they're on your team." He almost swooned. This was going to take some serious time and thought before his brain really comprehended all this. He walked around Ketala instead of pushing her aside, quickly leaving the Throne Room and returning to his quarters, breathing hard.

_Three_ angels… _Three and one was the Mahi!_

And… And… he was on their side…?

He was everlastingly bound to Sylvanis. Never again could he even fantasize rejoining the demons. This was an entirely new game. He looked out his opened window and eyed an abomination blundering around below, going about its duties. After calling down an infernal (Which blew the abomination up in many pretty shades of green, blue, and red; coating the undead around it in burning hot gore), and sending the infernal off to ruthlessly harass the Scarlet Monastery, he felt slightly better, and he closed his eyes to meditate, pacified by the angry screams below.

After all, angels, peace, and obedience to mortal demands were really, really out of his element.

Kel'Thuzad was silent, positive that something was out of place… Though, what that 'something' was, he could not fathom. He paused, staring down at his reflection in a pool of murky water, and pondering to himself. Ketala was not stupid… True, she was emotional… but she was not stupid. She shouldn't have attacked him. _He_ trained her better than that. He heard the patter of grotesque feet, and watched a troop of ghouls scamper by in a type of patrol. He was quiet, idly watching their scampering limbs. His eyes flared dark blue and he seized the mind of one of the ghouls, drawing it to him. After a moment of pondering, he sent it to its death through a fire. Satisfied that everything was normal, he went off again, and then quickly moved into his command tent, peering past the edge. The ghoul thrashed, a meager instinctive force to minimize damage by putting out the fire. However, without the constant attention of its master- the attention all undead normally received- it had no incentive to get out of the flames. And then suddenly it paused, silent, as the other ghouls looked around for peering eyes. Finding none, they slunk forward, grabbing their comrade and dragging him out, patting out the flames.

_I see you, little Ketala. Your reluctance to watch your precious minions die has betrayed you... You infested my guard when you attacked me, didn't you? _

No response, and he cackled in amusement, his hands clenching as a death pact slaughtered the group of ghouls, converting their life back into mana for him to channel.

Ketala's mind raced. How much did Kel'Thuzad guess? Did he realize how far she could reach? Were her undead in Northrend in danger? Did he know she could slink into undead minds even when he wasn't weak? No, by his words she guessed he though she was only able to reach them when his defenses were down. He would slaughter the guard.

What would keep him from slaughtering the rest of her undead? Relax... relax Ketala... Kel'Thuzad cannot tell which minions are mine unless I make them behave oddly. He might be able to determine it upon close examination, but he did not outright understand what she had originally done to the ghoul. That led her to believe that it was difficult for Kel'Thuzad to determine whether or not she had influence over a ghoul. If she slowed progress for awhile, he wouldn't sense her. She would not be able to try and continue saving her minions. He would be watching, and he would know. But now, he had a group to exterminate. He wasn't aware of how deep the infestation ran, but he had found a nest, and he could give a distinct size and execution to it- his guard on the trip down to Stormwind.

_Run!_ Her mind screamed. _Run! He knows you! Run!_ She delved into their consciousnesses, pulling them out and shoving them forward with all her might. The ghouls and shades split off, all running individually. Those near water took to the disgusting rivers to disguise their tracks from other ghouls. The gargoyals took up straight into the sky...

But Kel'Thuzad already knew. A few litches brought down the minions. A death pack took down one of the two destroyers and sent it crashing into dust upon the ground, and her mind bonded with its as it died, calming it and feeling all its agony. The rest of the Gargoyles took off, chasing the renegades. Banshees hurtled unwillingly after the few that deserted, screaming their sorrow at what they were being forced to do. That which could swim was safe, as it could swim by instruction through Ketala's mind in a way no undead mind could carefully urge it. The abominations were helpless. They dropped into the river at her command and stayed there, battling off the ghouls and other monsters. Their fractured, destroyed minds radiated only relief at each blow, and at each death they suffered. The one massive Frostdrake had already been in the air, else the gargoyles would have annihilated it. It dodged the icy blows of the only other dragon near it and took off in a random direction, sprinting as far as it could from its former masters.

And through it all, Ketala had to allow her other minions to slaughter their comrades, even push the other banshees to do so, though she allowed them to lag and fail a bit more then normal. Her eyes formed tears at each death. The other destroyer had no chance, but it flew for all it was worth. It dodged and blocked what it could, taking the bolts and just kept going... All it had to do would be to reach Tristfall... Two gargoyles rammed into it and started ripping the creature apart from behind. It bellowed out its hatred, tearing and ripping at its assailants as all three tumbled to the ground. They landed with a crack... and the destroyer was left to the merciless onslaught of the gargoyles above, breaking under every blow until there was nothing left. She was waiting in the mountains beside Loradmere lake to welcome those that survived. Several gargoyles landed and she immediately told them to go into statue form to heal. The ghouls and shades that survived clustered around her, all begging for attention as she treated what wounds she could. A lone banshee hovered near, worn and hurt looking, but with a smug expression.

"You could've help us... couldn't you..." she hissed. "Too much was at stake... You are no better then them, choosing your power over your minions-"

"I have less 'minions,' as you so rudely name yourself, then would be required to overthrow Kel'Thuzad. Helping you would have only encouraged more death. I am sorry for what has happened- but by killing two of your poor sisters, I have saved many more. Please forgive me. As of now, you are free to do as you chose- even turn on me." The banshee looked at her uncertainly a moment and then just wailed, turning and floating off, her horrendous screams torturing the air. Ketala watched her go a moment and then came up to the Gargoyles, gently stroking their stone heads and hearing their mental emissions of appreciation. The dragon, somewhere southeast, she sent in search of a place to recuperate from the blizzards and infrequent gargoyles that had blocked its presence.

Ketala went still, her mind reaching out again, and she touched the minds of the necromancers. Most of them were stunned with surprise as Kel'Thuzad turned on them, herding them into a group. They were not undead, of course, but he could take no chances. As her mind intruded onto theirs, most of them looked to her with hatred or desperation. But all, at her suggestion, lifted their staves and raised a thick armada of skeletons and skeletal mages. She might be an enemy, but they would not be used for abominations, as Kel'Thuzad was promising, without a fight.

Nonetheless, they were slaughtered, all of them. And when the last of the guard lay dead, Kel'Thuzad decided to reinstate his personal bodyguard to accompany him wherever he went. They, he knew, had no choice but to be loyal. They had been turned into undead by he, himself, and were so perverted by his dark magics that Arthas himself would have a tough time gaining control of them, had he not Kel'Thuzad's will bound to him already.

Varimathras stood silently, watching all the shades scattered throughout the room.

"… I think we need to get you your own quarters, angel." She lifted her head, grinning at him, ghouls attached to her on all sides.

"Like my statues?" She pointed to the gargoyles all perched in stone around her and giggled. He lifted a brow. "It would be nice to have some place to keep all these though. I catch every Shade that I sense getting near here."

"And Sylvanis doesn't notice them?"

"She knows about them. She knows I've exercised my influence on them. They're charmed by her- they'd come to her bidding."

"Would they?"

"Yes."

He eyed her a moment and then came over to her, parting through the shades, and knelt down. "Would they if you forbade them to?"

"Does blood run through your veins?"

"Very little."

"No. They wouldn't."

"Does she know that?"

"Do you really drink blood?" she questioned again.

"Yes, I do."

"No, she does not know." He smiled darkly.

"A little sneaky for an angel."

"I don't know what an angel is supposed to be, or what good is, or what's expected of me. I only know my goals- I want to free the minds of every undead on this planet, and kill the one responsible for all this death and misery."

"And Sylvanis has slightly different goals. Knowing you have the final control over the shades would be irksome to her- it would make her wonder about your true intentions. She would fight for dominance, and, in result, you would not be able to liberate the undead as freely as you wish. Sylvanis can't sense your control- only her own. She wouldn't know if a shade was betraying her or not, because you could conceal their consciousness and thoughts from her." He tilted his head to the side.

"But I wouldn't betray her. I'm just afraid of her thinking that way- of not trusting me. Everyone in this world is too afraid of being betrayed- it hinders the good I intend."

"Because you are an angel, I will not alert her immediately. But she will find out."

"I know. Those are strange words coming from your mouth."

"I may be a demon, but I am concentrating on what is best for the Dark Lady. And what is best for her is… _victory…_ I will recognize corruption in you. Thus I will gauge if you are trustworthy or not." She lifted a brow. Then she nodded.

"You're on your way to becoming sane after all." He blinked and scowled as she stood up, dusting off her cloak. "Is there a space for me?"

"For your minions, up in the castle ruins." She nodded. "I will show you the way. Come." She stood, following, keeping her minions in the throne room for now. Varimathras led her to the elevators and up the massive platform. He walked out and stopped. "… Can you control abominations?" Both abominations immediately stood at attention, and he looked back at them, watching them stare intently at Ketala, waiting for instructions. "Is it easier?"

"Abominations are simple, un-dynamic creatures. They do not develop much consciousness. When my mind touches theirs, they never develop past dogs. They understand the basic concept that I am the aspect of good in their mind. They file behind me as the positive affecter in their 'lives'. Faced with what will to pull in, be it Kel'thuzad's or mine, they will unhesitantly allow the positive affecter. One abomination stooped, bringing its grotesque, stitched face down near hers, its lips dripping with slime and refuse. She smiled gently, lifting a hand and stroking over its cheek.

"Pretty, pretty," it mumbled in its loud, inhuman voice. Ketala smirked and stepped toward Varimathras.

"So, it is easier."

"Yes, but there isn't much there to save." He nodded, continuing through the castle and taking her through a side door, leading her through the blood-stained halls. Eventually they reached what had once been a wing of quarters all for servants, and Varimathras glanced around.

"Will this do?"

"Yes, this will be fine." He nodded, quivering inwardly as she came nearer to him to examine the halls and rooms. Then she smiled at him and lifted a hand, patting him on his armored shoulder. "Thank you Varimathras." He snorted, eyes narrowing, but said nothing.

Once this was over, he wondered, would it be plausible to ask Sylvanis for permission to kill this girl?

* * *

Illidan sighed, looking down at what Zul'vii had done. Two squat toads now sat in her shoe-box habitat. 

"I thought of a better idea," Zul'vii said with a giggle.

"How is this better?"

"No one dies."

"… Do you think she enjoys being a toad? Especially as Zenn seems intent on mating with her?"

"Hmm, that could be a problem. Who knows, this could backfire in ten thousand years or so, and I could have an angry half-demon after me." She pondered for a moment, and then went back to her knowledge of voodoo. After another hour, she tried again, much more satisfied with the results.

"Zul'vii, there's a horse sitting in my bathtub, terrified," said a sleepy Jaina, poking her head out her door. "Would you care to explain?"

"In a moment…"

The final spell eventually produced the most desired effect, and the naga/maid stared up at them in bewilderment from the bathtub, not quite sure what to do.

"Hopeless cause…" muttered Illidan.

"Hey, at least I did something mildly productive," grumbled his half-troll companion.

"And I'm guessing you're all leaving _me_ to explain why Vashj has to take in a naga, whom was previously human?" Kael asked with a sigh. Zul'vii and Illidan both took a step away from him. Vashj could be scary when angry. "Figures…"

"We'll just have to hope they assume she ran away with some soldier lover or something. Didn't a small legion or something just leave the castle?"

"Why, yes… yes it did," murmured Jaina.

"That's my story and I'm sticking to it." There was a knock on the embassy door, and everyone fell silent. The non-humans receded into individual rooms, closing the doors quietly, as Jaina and her personal advisors made themselves at home in the main room.

"Come in," the leader of Theremore said simply, opening her spell book and glancing over the words. The door opened quickly.

"Lady Proudmoore?" inquired a male voice. Jaina lifted her head and blinked, gazing at the paladin that stood there with curiosity.

"I am she. What is it the Silver Hand desires of me?" she asked, standing and closing the book. One of his hands clenched and he swallowed.

"You are here to negotiate with the undead." She nodded slowly. "I need a ride to the Undercity." Jaina's eyes narrowed.

"My teleport ability is not to be used to aid in conducting raids-"

"It is not violence I seek." Jaina fell silent, tilting her head to the side. "It is Ketala I wish to see."

"Oi," Zul'vii muttered, pushing her door open. "Jaina! Dis be da one who trained her. I can tell by how worried he looks!" She laughed. The paladin jumped at the sound of a troll accent, but said nothing, staring at the ground. "Ah…? And he knows exactly who's here, and he still hasn't told anyone else," she said with surprise, stepping out and eyeing the paladin. The holy crusader didn't respond, staring at his feet. "How you be spying on us?" He was silent a moment and then gestured to the shade that had become visible in the room. Zul'vii blinked and then grabbed Illidan by the hair, tugging him out.

"How come you did not notice _that_?" Illidan snarled, shoving her off.

"Because he probably listened in from the other side of the door!"

"WHY DIDN'T YOU HEAR HIM?" The paladin blinked and butted in with,

"Shade's don't make noise- don't even breathe. The only time they make noise is when they wish to, and with Ketala steering his every movement, he surly wouldn't have made a mistake.

Zul'vii, who was in a cat fight with Illidan, and possibly attempting to rip off one of his ears, mouthed, "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…" and let go of the demonhunter. She glared at Illidan and snorted. "Some use you are." He glared at her, anger seething in him again. Jaina shook her head and looked back at the paladin.

"I will take you there, paladin, but you must _swear_ that you will cause no harm while you are there."

"I swear to you, Lady Proudmoore, I will harm _nothing._ I swear on my honor, as a paladin and defender of the light."

* * *

The DeathKnight watched as Kel'Thuzad slaughtered the necromancers, as slowly and as painfully as he could. Idly, he wondered if Kel'Thuzad would attack him as well, as he had been part of Kel'Thuzad's escort through the more southern lands. At his thoughts, he was soothed by both the Litch and the master, assured that his mind was secure. As Ketala had not tried to infiltrate Kel'Thuzad's mind, she must be incapable of entering the minds of anything with sentience. 

Unfortunately, the DeathKnight did not come to terms with the fact that he was expendable. As Kel'Thuzad finished, he turned his gaze on the DeathKnight. There was silence between them as the fallen paladin sharpened his gleaming sword, feeling the entities above him examine and rake through his mind. Long hours of silence passed, the blade's dull edge forming back into a sharp, smooth surface. After some time, Kel'Thuzad turned and walked away…

But that would not be the end.

The DeathKnight stirred from atop his mount, scanning the terrain around him. No humans… Nothing… Still, he could not shake off the feeling that someone… _somewhere…_ was watching him…

_Dark Ritual… _

_Kel- _

His pale blue eyes flew open wide as he felt the magical dagger thrust up through his armor and back. He screamed, feeling the life drain from him, converting to mana as it left his dying body. "DEATH PACT!" He screamed, the horse under him crumbling as its life spilled out to feed him. He tumbled to the ground amid its scattering of bones, gasping for air and twitching weakly in pain.

_Get up… Get up! He's going to kill you! RUN!_ He obeyed, crawling out of the bones and shoving himself with his feet. A nova burst around him and he gasped, slowing.

"Unholy Aura!" he managed out, the aura causing him to regenerate and move faster, and he turned back to his mount, drawing in what reserves of mana he had left. "Animate Undead!" he almost pleaded, and shuddered as he felt the last of his mana leave him, infusing back into the horse, and bringing it back to its feet. He climbed on and kicked its sides, spurring it on. A biting spell smashed into him and he cried out, feeling his regeneration ebb to nothing whilst under the Death and Decay spell. Despite it, he road on. With no clear indication of where he was going, he wound up at the river and sprinted the horse into its shallows, spurring it on. He needed more mana! Any moment now, the horse's undead life-force would dissipate, and he would be back to running on his own two legs… And Kel'Thuzad was in pursuit with a fresh Dark Ritual! Without the ability to cast Death Pact again, he would perish! The horse started failing and he jumped off of its back, running on his own. The river began to move faster and faster, and eventually he stopped, stripping himself of armor, and grabbed a sturdy looking log, moving to the center of the water. The current dragged him easily off his feet, and shuttled him along, he holding to the log for dear life…

As he couldn't swim. Above him, he heard the screeches of gargoyles and he shuddered, pulling his mental presence into a tiny, barely noticeable ball and hiding. But Arthas knew… Ner'zhul always knew where he was. The gargoyles turned, heading straight for him. A nova burst up next to him in the water and he screamed out in agony as he was entrapped in ice between both banks, the water pulling at his feet, helpless. Again he felt the dagger, ripping into him, and he cried out, using a death pact to bring down the gargoyle he sensed Kel'Thuzad riding on. The other beasts turned, flying down to catch their second master, and the Deathknight struggled with the time he had bought, trying to get free. He pulled his legs up, touching the edge of his sword, and he slowly, painfully pulled the blade from the melting ice with his feet. Shuddering upon freeing the blade, he secured his knees around the hilt and contracted his body, driving the blade into the ice near him. He was rewarded with a satisfying snapping noise… and his small prison of ice drifted free, continuing to float.

_Fool._ His master said with delight, abandoning the mind of his pawn. Paralyzed with terror at having no direction and at the realization that something was wrong, it took him half a minute to look over his shoulder… And by the time he did so, he was already halfway down the waterfall.

The ice fractured as his body compacted with the water, and he screamed through the water, choking on it, as pain alighted all throughout his body. His sight glazed, the light fading from his world, and he fell unconscious, drifting downward. The next thing he remembered was being above the water, claws wrapped around him, choking and spitting out what water had leaked into his lungs. He looked up, horrified to see that he was being carried by a gargoyle, and all he remembered past that was darkness, and he wondered why Arthas simply hadn't manipulated him to stay in one stop and accept his death.

Who had been in his mind, rousing him to flee?


	15. More than Friends

**Thank you! **Remember, I stop writing if you stop reviewing O.O...

Yeah, does anyone remember if it was Uther's ashes or the King's that Arthas took the urn of to ressurect Kel'Thuzad? Anyone? Me neither, it's the King from here on out!

**

* * *

More Than Friends**

* * *

Thrall and Jaina

Sleep Walking? Stress? Nightmares? Thrall sat up in bed, unable to sleep, holding his head and sighing out. This was pathetic. Here he was, kept up at night in worry for a human. He grunted, mentally hitting himself. And now he was being racist. Alright, he was being kept up all night in worry for his ally's emotional state. He sighed, standing up and walking to the bathroom, splashing his face with cold water and gazing at himself in the expensive mirror. Was that how he looked? He grumbled, straightening himself and then took the ties out of his hair and combed his fingers through it. A comb in the bathroom helped get through the knots, though he had to work gently and slowly to refrain from breaking it. Come to think of it, he was rather hot and… He eyed the shower a moment and then walked over, turning it on.

After a luke-warm shower, in which, yes, he even used soap to get the dirt off of himself, he set to cleaning and polishing his armor and restyling his hair. Despite his orcish blood, he was a proud, intelligent being, and had retained some strange style of fashion from his human upbringing. A knock came on his door, and he lifted his head.

"… Come in." The door pushed open, and a figure cloaked in shadow peered in. He tilted his head to the side, watching the figure move into the candle-light. Jaina. A smile spread over his face, and he moved to set the armor down.

"No, It's alright," she said weakly, her eyes telling of exhaustion.

"Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

"Not tired," she said, a very noticeable lie. He perked up, his features straining lightly. 'She wasn't tired', or 'she couldn't sleep'? Nightmares again? He set the armor down anyway, and beckoned to her to come over with one hand. She smiled sleepily and came over, cloaked in simple white and violet robes. He tilted his head to the side and grinned at her.

"You're exhausted, miss Jaina," he said simply, standing up and looking down at her. He looked silently up at him, neither denying nor accepting the fact. "Why are you here?"

"Not sure," she said, weakly rubbing one of her eyes. He lifted a brow, eyeing her for a long a moment. She looked like a child, confused and tired. In fact, she'd probably be extremely embarrassed when she woke up in the morning. After a moment, he took her arm by the elbow and drew her over to a couch, sitting her down and sitting beside her.

"What's on your mind?" he asked gently, as eager to be rid of his lack of sleep as he was to help cure hers.

"The nightmare… Always the same, every night." She sighed out and he winced, letting go of her arm.

"What about?"

"That day… The day my father died…" she said simply. No accusing eyes turned toward him. Nothing in her voice hinted at hostility. Her lack of hatred made him cringe even more with guilt.

"Jaina… I… I never got to speak to you that day…" he touched her shoulder gently. "I'm sorry, Jaina. I'm truly, deeply sorry."

"He was blinded by his hatred. There was no other way to protect the peace between our races," she murmured bluntly.

"But he was your father… You cared deeply for him."

"If the final blow had not been struck, Thrall, he would have hated me just as much as you, for taking your side. He would have hated me. He already did. I saw it in his eyes as he died. He knew… at he _hated_ me, me, his daughter, for it. Betrayer. Traitor. My own father hated me, and never understood that peace was necessary." Thrall was silent, just staring at her a long moment. After a moment, he took her small hands in his own, massive green ones. She looked at him a moment.

"If I could repair that, I would. I'm sorry, Jaina- so sorry."

"What do you have to be sorry for? You're a leader who's chosen a peaceful, competitive existence. You're one of the first." He touched her chin.

"As are you." She looked up at him silently.

"But I can't do anything about it." Thrall fell silent, not sure what to tell the human before him. He was still and silent a long moment… Then he sighed, gently patting her shoulder.

"It'll be fine. You're doing your best, and are a world power despite how you downsize your position." She nodded to herself. "You're the one orchestrating peace with the undead after all, right?" She blinked and smiled.

"Yes… yes I am…" She looked up at him. "Thank you, Thrall." And with that, she hugged the orc. Thrall tensed, staring at her in bewilderment, wondering how much alcohol she had managed to consume during the day without anyone's knowledge. If any orc or human in all of Orgrimmar or Stormwind could see this right now, they would just stare, gaping. The Warchief of the orcs was sitting in Stormwind, beside The Lady Jaina Proudmoore. Said lady currently had her small white arms latched around his massive, broad chest, the fingers barely meeting against his back, her cheek over his heart, hugging him tightly. An orc and a human. Oh the irony. He shifted in discomfort, thinking of all the scorn he would suffer if anyone knew, all the ridicule and accusations of being soft. He was silent a long moment as she let go, smiling sleepily but cheerfully, and stood up.

"Jaina?" She paused, looking at him. "If by any chance, in the morning, you have the urge to be embarrassed… Don't be…" She tilted her head to the side, but nodded.

"Weird, isn't it? The only night I haven't nightmared since it happened… was the one in your study." She laughed weakly and turned, walking back to her room. Thrall sighed brokenly as she left, and crawled back to bed, thinking over her words.

* * *

He was awoken by a very faint touch… across his throat. Primal instincts reacted as he grabbed the object, flinging whatever it was away from him, and yanked a dirk from his waist, holding up and ready to strike. From where she had been shoved rudely to the floor, Jaina Proudmoore stared up at him with big eyes. Thrall blinked, and sighed in relief, lowering the blade. 

"… My apologies, Lady." She grinned, and lifted a feather duster to him for inspection. He blinked. Had she been trying to… tickle… him? He lifted a brow, and a grin cracked over his face. "You really have to stop doing that," he said with a chuckles, reaching over and pulling her up to her feet.

"Time to get up," she said, tossing the feather duster over her shoulder and grinning.

"Sleep well?"

"Didn't nightmare… Ah… Warchief… about last night…"

"Told you not to be embarrassed."

"I'm… not…" He blinked, tilting his head to the side, and then stiffened, eyes wide, as she hugged him again. He fell silent a long, long moment, and then he coughed lightly, detaching her and kneeling so he was more at her level. She blinked, blushing slightly. He was silent a long moment.

"We are more then just allies… aren't we?" he asked gently.

"…Friends?" she murmured hopefully, almost seeming ashamed. He smiled, nodding.

"Yes, Miss Jaina-"

"Jaina," she corrected. "Just… Jaina…" He smirked, nodding, and then stood up again.

"I'll be out in a bit… Jaina…" He turned her around, and gently pushed her toward the door. She smiled at him, and then opened it, walking through.

* * *

Ketala, Zul'vii and the Death Knight

Illidan was silent, watching the scourge below them. His long slender ears picked up their meaningless chatter, and his eyes detected the smoky presence of Ketala's shade and the enemy shade nearby. He waited. One minute. Two. The shade moved, drifting near him, its eyes scanning the terrain around it for enemy presence as he hid among the foliage, he surprisingly unnoticeable for such a massive demonic presence. He smirked and reached out, nimbly lopping the head off of the creature. Behind him, he sensed Ketala wince, but it was no use- she could not convert these undead quickly enough without being easily detected and opposed by their masters. They had to die. The shade died, and he watched Zul'vii stealth, climbing on the branches over the ghouls. She calculated distances for a moment and then dropped two tomahawks, She ripped out two battleaxes, jumping off the branch. The axes thudded into two ghouls skulls as the scourge looked up. Twin battleaxes ripped through the hides of the survivors, hacking through the ghouls with speed and precision. Illidan looked around a moment and then came out of the foliage, clapping for her.

"You're sure the Death Knight you're looking for is somewhere around here?" he asked, turning back and looking at Ketala as she came out. Like Zul'vii, Ketala had a tainting aura. Instead of white, however, hers was a twisting eruption of colors. It even sank into the plants around her, though she had yet to notice that capability of hers yet.

"Positive," she murmured, holding tightly to the hilt of one of her scimitars and heading forward.

"Why didn't you have the gargoyles bring him back to the Undercity?" Zul'vii asked, hopping up onto a boulder and looking out at the large lake before them.

"I told you, Kel'Thuzad's gargoyles are still at large in the air around here. Flying would have gotten him found out, and walking, as we saw by the vast number of ghouls on the way here, would have left him dead. Besides, he's still unconscious, and gargoyles are helpless on the ground." Her eyes fluttered shut, her mental presence reaching out. She moved, walking up to the cliff that bordered one side of the lake and sheathed her scimitar. Digging her dead fingertips into the dirt, she found handholds and footholds and proceeded to scale it. Around a hundred feet up, she stopped, moving into a chasm. There was a small screech from inside, and a moment later, two gargoyles came to the edge of the chasm and launched from it, gliding lazily to the ground. One dropped Ketala on her feet, and the other gently laid down the death knight on the soil. Both fluttered backward and landed awkwardly, holding their wings to their sides. Ketala patted one on the head, and then knelt at the side of the death knight, examining him.

"Is he alive?" asked Zul'vii, coming over and looking down at the weakened, battered, fallen paladin.

"Well, he's not dead. But he might be undead." She reached up, carefully pulling his helmet off. The cold skin and stalk white hair did not reassure them of the fallen paladin's life, but he did appear to be breathing, however softly.

"He looks hurt. Should I try healing him?"

"Your energy might hurt him."

"Oh, he looks alive to me. Just cursed. Let me try." She reached forward, touching the death knight's armor's shoulder. Ketala reached forward and put a hand on hers, and they both looked at each other. Then, gently, they both fed their aura into the fallen paladin, pushing life back into him bodily and mentally. His blue eyes flew open and he gasped, his back arching as he breathed in deeply, shuddering. Both Ketala and Zul'vii drew back as his eyes closed again, his face drawn with pain.

"The hell… happened…?" he murmured weakly.

"You were betrayed by Ner'zhul and fell off a waterfall," Illidan stated nonchalantly. The death knight's eyes opened again, and he stared at Illidan, jumping at the sight and looking from Zul'vii to Ketala with wide eyes. He reached to his side for his sword and found it not to be there, silently cursing his luck. Ketala docked her head to the side, and crept forward again. He stared at her, shrinking back as she reached forward and undead fingertips graced his features. He froze, staring at her as she smiled gently. Illidan watched the undead female's aura sink directly into the paladin with no impediment. Beside her, Zul'vii's prominent aura worked in a similar fashion, tendrils locating the fallen Paladin and leaving their mark.

"Wh- who are you?" the paladin grunted out, mastering control of his voice.

"I am Ketala." His eyes widened even more.

"You are… the one they seek! The reason Kel'Thuzad killed the necromancers-"

"I had no power over the necromancers. He slew them merely to be certain… And for the same reason, he attempted to slay you."

"Because of you!" He moved to hit her, but she caught his arm, her eyes whirling a soft green.

"You are expendable to him. You always have been. That is why Ner'zhul was willing to destroy you, but not Kel'Thuzad. You are expendable. Kel'Thuzad is not."

"Is Kel'Thuzad-"

"No, I did not even bother trying to take on a mind as powerful as his. Nor did I bother with yours, until Kel'Thuzad betrayed you."

"You were the one… who made me run."

"Yes, and no matter if it is my fault or Arthas's originally, I and these two gargoyles here are the current reason you are alive." She reached over, grabbing his other arm, and stood, pulling him to his feet. He resisted a bit, and then let her, wavering uncertainly once he was standing. "So, now that you are free and marked traitor by the scourge, what are you going to do?" His stared at her, silent, quivering softly from pain, eyes flaming with hate. She tilted her head to the side innocently, watching the blind hatred come from. And then he launched at her, grabbing for her neck, just trying to kill the source of his fall from Arthas's grace. Ketala had both scimitars out in an instant, shearing through his armor and pressing into the skin over his chest. He halted mid-step, grimacing in pain, shuddering. She eyed him a long moment, and then lowered her blades, pulling them out of his armor. He grunted, putting his hand to the cracks, touching his own tainted blood and looking at it.

"Even if you had the mana, you could do very little to hurt us." She sheathed a scimitar and lifted her hand, white light blaring around her fingertips. His eyes widened and he jerked backwards, staring at the holy ball of fire.

"What manner of creature are you?" he asked with a shudder.

"I'm an ex death knight, half elemental, allied with Sylvanis and the Argent dawn, and a Paladin trainee. And I have the ability to instill freedom and a conscious in the undead. He quivered, watching the flame vanish, not a scorch visible on her skin.

"You're scaring him, Ketala," said Zul'vii, coming up to the fallen paladin. He turned toward her, eyes narrow. But as she lifted a hand he groaned, eyes widening as he felt the wounds in his chest close, healing life pouring through him. Along with Ketala's soothing aura, it was too much for him to bear, and he fell to his kneels, his eyes rolling up as he trembled. He felt arms move under his, pulling him to his feet. The aura was lavished further upon him and he vomited, spewing what little rotten sustenance was in his stomach over the ground.

"Is this how miserable I looked under your care?" Illidan muttered to Zul'vii.

"Of course not, you were twice as bad," she said with a wink, helping Ketala. He sighed, letting the girls and gargoyles go before them, his keen ears picking up the slightest rustlings around them for signs of hostility. On their way back, they encountered but a single ghoul, and then they were standing before the great ruins of Lordaeron. Ketala and Zul'vii gently pulled the fallen paladin through the entry ruins, bringing him back to the servant hall and into an unoccupied room, laying him down on a cot.

"Do undead always have such a surprising reaction to you?" Ketala asked Zul'vii.

"Never been around many undead," she confessed, pulling back the armor from his chest to make sure his wounds were fully healed.

"So you think he's an undead now?"

"Dunno. But he is very, very cold." Ketala nodded, feeding her mind gently into his and skirting around, making reparations and drawing his conscious to her for safe keeping and nurturing his freewill, breaking through the corruption of the Litch King's powerful mind. Illidan watched the two silently as Ketala lifted her head, looking at both of them.

"I have a plan now, though," she said. Zul'vii blinked.

"For what?"

"For defeating Kel'Thuzad, and saving his life." Zul'vii perked up.

"How?"

"Get Arthas to forsake him, as he forsook this death knight."

"Arthas would not forsake his closest minion."

"There may be a way."

"How?"

"Infuse a conscious into all his minions, including his personal bodyguard. Use them to launch an attack on IceCrown."

"And Kel'Thuzad?"

"Detain him with Sylvanis's men."

"Very rough plan. Lots of flaws."

Ketala nodded. "But it's a start. We must begin somewhere. Is he alright?"

"He's alright," Zul'vii assured, standing up slowly. "But we should go. Jaina and Kael should have returned by now… and Jaina hinted she was bringing someone important." Ketala sighed and nodded, standing up.

"I'll stay with him mentally then." The others nodded their agreement, and the group of three stood, heading back to the Undercity elevators.

* * *

Ketala and Gydrion

As the trio entered the Undercity Royal Quarter, Ketala went still, staring into the throne room. The other two stopped, looking at her, watching her eyes turn hot pink and then lapse into a happy lavender. Ketala dropped the one scimitar she had kept unsheathed with a clatter to the ground. The noise alerted the current inhabitants of the room, so Gydrion turned just in time to receive a massive hug tackle, wrapping his arms around Ketala and stepping back a pace, catching her tightly.

"Nice to see you again," the priest said with a smile.

"Gydrion!" she said gleefully. "What are you doing _here_?" Sylvanis snorted, eyeing Jaina.

"The Human '_leader'_ brought him here." Jaina was the next victim of the flying hug tackle of doom.

"Thank you!"

Jaina and Sylvanis just stared at her, with expression's hovering somewhere around, "o.O…" Ketala let go, filled with glee, and looked up at Sylvanis.

"Do you have anything you need of me, Dark Lady?"

"Nothing at the moment- but keep that paladin-"

"Yes, Dark Lady!" She already had Gydrion's hand and was tugging him out of the throne room. Sylvanis grunted, crossing her arms over her chest as she watched Thrash bound after the half elemental.

Zul'vii blinked and looked at them leave. "Is it safe (For the paladin's sake, and the Undercity's) for him to be running around unescorted? Won't the other undead pick a fight with him?"

"That's what I'm hoping," grumbled Sylvanis. The guards glared after them as Ketala tugged Gydrion out of the Throne Room."

"Ketala, is it safe to be out here?" Ketala nodded, smiling up at him. As they stepped out into the Apothecarium quarter Gydrion stopped short at the sight of a massive Abomination, eyes widening. Ketala blinked and looked back at him. Then she smiled and lifted her other hand, patting him on the shoulder.

"It's alright. They won't hurt you."

"How do you know?" he grunted out.

"I know." She tugged him forward again, leading him past the abomination and underneath the angry glares of all the undead in the vicinity. Every single one stopped to stare, their eyes filled with anger. None, however, approached. None backed up, but none approached, and their eyes never moved to Ketala for long. Gydrion, looking around at the hateful expressions, was struck by the strange notion that they were… repulsed by her… afraid of her. Not one of them spoke a word of rebuke, all deathly silent, as she pulled him through the tunnels. Gydrion lowered his gaze back to his protégé, away from the rotten and destroyed forms around him. She gave him a gentle, reassuring smile, leading him up a staircase and around on a higher floor. At last, an undead stood in their way. He moved between them and another set of gruesome abominations, his jaw hanging at a lopsided angle and his eyes burning with hatred.

"That thing…" he hissed out, as if Gydrion were the rotten monstrosity, not himself, "is as bad as the Scarlet Monestary! How dare you think of bringing it here! Your heart may be as dead as mine, but you are naught but a foolish outsider! Have you no concept of what their people have done to ours?"

"He is a guest, and the Lady Sylvanis herself did not slay him. He will not be harmed by your hand." The undead growled, drawing out a longsword. He never got it fully from the sheath, finding his broken mouth held closed with a scimitar blade. He lifted his head a bit, eyes blazing into hers with fury. Her whirling eyes returned the glare, her aura sinking into this undead's mind…

And there she found her work had been done for her. This undead was a geyser of emotions and conscious feeling. And almost all of the emotion was anguish.

"Step out of the way. Gydrion was my mentor in undeath and has accepted me. He is certainly not the one of those who betrayed you." The undead balked, jerking his head backward and cleaving his jaw lightly. He stared at her for a long moment, tensing and untensing. Then he moved slowly, stepping out of her way, and allowing the paladin through. Ketala nodded, and gently tugged Gydrion past, bringing him between the abominations and onto a massive green platform. He stumbled and grunted as the floor began moving, and Ketala grinned at him. At the end, both paladin and half elemental walked out of the elevator, and Gyrdrion paused, staring at the coffin of Lordaeron's fallen king. He quivered lightly, and looked at Ketala.

"Why has this tomb not been desecrated?" Ketala shrugged, looking at the stone panel detailing the monarch's life and death.

"To be honest? Don't know. However, Arthas invaded Lordaeron too fast for a proper burial. Didn't they cremate him, though? Yes, so that leads me to believe that the Forsaken constructed this monument for him. Maybe they even gathered what of his ashes they could to put in here"

"You can't be sure of that."

"This tablet is in GutterSpeak, a derivative of Common used by the undead."

"Why? Sylvanis has no love for humans."

"No… but maybe she felt kindred to a fellow Being-Destroyed-By-Arthas." Gydrion nodded grimly. "And you've got to remember, most of the undead here were once Lordaeron citizens. Undead might be… well… undead, but they generally retain a good portion of their former selves, especially if they have free will." Gydrion blinked. Ketala looked up at him and tilted her head to the side. "What? What did you think 'free-willed undead' meant? Do you remember that undead that stopped us down there? Do you know why he did?" She smiled weakly. "I saw his mind, vivid scenes playing out with such complete detail. Originally, he had come from Stormwind, but when the undead plague began, he came north to serve Lordaeron in the front lines of battle. He fought against the Scourge and the undead plague with valor and honor. Though he had not yet been accepted as a paladin, he was aiming to become one when he returned to Stormwind. Back at his home, he had parents… a sister… and fiancé. During one raid on Lordaeron's borders, he pulled back from the front line to help a wounded comrade. The battle was an easy win, and he would have survived… if a ghoul did not somehow make it past the front line, and leap onto his back. It ripped open his jaw, entirely unhinging it on one side, and ripped open his back between his shoulder blades. He quickly bled to death and was taken back to Lordaeron via coffin. When Arthas betrayed Lordaeron, he was hit by the undead plague. By the time it finished reanimating him, Sylvanis had already taken over the Undercity." Ketala sheathed her scimitar, looking over the inscriptions on the top of the coffin.

"He crawled out of his tomb, and, disgusted by this masquerade of life around him, headed back to Stormwind, hoping it was untouched by the Scourge. He found it unmarred, and though he was glad to see it such, he decided to be discreet and minimize contact with the guards. Surly, _surly, _though, his family would remember him…" She smiled darkly. Gydrion said nothing, turning and heading for the exit. Ketala followed, gently taking his hand.

"They call themselves the 'Forsaken' for a reason," Ketala said softly. Gydrion nodded, deep in thought.

"But why do they fight with the humans?" he asked after a moment.

"Do they really have a choice? They're just bogging into another war based on simply loathing and misunderstanding. I hear the conflict between orcs and humans is bogging down with the same problems." Gydrion nodded again, letting her lead through the ruined city, and bringing him at last to a high point, where she plopped down and patted the ground beside her. Gydrion sat down, and the two looked up at the stars.

"So what did you come here for?" Ketala asked after a long moment.

"To make sure you were alright." Ketala laughed softly, nodding. "Have you still been practicing paladin techniques?" The half elemental nodded, conjuring holy flame in one of her palms.

"I want to show you something. Please don't be frightened, they're very friendly," she continued after a moment, her eyes closing. He blinked, eyeing her, but waited. The sound of claws tapping lightly on stone made him jump and stare down at the ghouls rushing toward them. His hand went to his sword, but his protégé reached out and grabbed his wrist, staying his arm. He looked at her, and then gasped as the ghouls milled around her, nuzzling against her arms and nibbling lightly at her cloak and hair. Ketala's eyes opened and she giggled, slowly rubbing the head of one of the ghouls. "It's okay, Gydrion. These are mine. They're quite friendly."

"… They're not… half as intelligent as the shades."

"No, that's going to take a long while to come back. They're very destroyed, after all." He winced, watching her stroke and pet the decayed monsters, not at all bothered by the gore.

"How… can you… touch them like that…?" Ketala blinked, looking at him, and then shook her head.

"Raised by undead. I don't see it the same way you do." She stood up and picked one of the ghouls, one that was standing and not acting like a dog. "This is Jerod. He hasn't remembered his last name yet, we're still working on that." The ghoul named Jerod looked at Gydrion with slightly glowing eye sockets. Then it looked up at Ketala.

"Ketttt…" it rattled out, and she nodded, smiling and hugging the ghoul. It gave a grumbling purr, nuzzling against her. Gydrion stared, at a loss of words for the bizarre sight before him. She released the ghoul after a moment and gestured in the priest's direction.

"Gy-dri-on," she dragged out for the ghoul's benefit. Jerod blinked the slightly glowing eyes, looking up at her. "Gyyyyyy-drrrriiiii-onnnnnn." The ghoul was silent a moment, testing its own will-power, and then hissed out,

"Gyyy…." It paused, listening as she repeated the name a few more times. "Gyyy….dreee…..unnnnnn…" Ketala nodded, petting the undead on the head, and it purred, murmuring the name again. Then its eyes opened, and it stepped out from under her hand, looking at the priest. It looked him up and down and then bared its teeth. "Gydreeonn…" It touched its chest. "Jerod." Gydrion winced, but nodded. The monster was silent a moment, and then tilted its head to the side. "Pr…" It fell silent again, thinking hard. "Preee…?"

"Priest?" Gydrion asked, repulsed. It nodded slowly, grunting and picking at its tattered garments. The priest and Ketala both blinked, and the half elemental reached over, grabbing a piece of pottery that had gathered rain water. She brought it over to the ghoul, and gently spilled some of the liquid over the shoulder of the garment, using her fingers to pull the mud from it. Her brows furrowed as she worked, her eyes squinting, and then she grunted. She displayed a ruined, Silver Hand symbol to Gydrion on the patch of material, smiling weakly. Gydrion blinked, staring at the ghoul. He swallowed, and stood slowly, looking down at the ruined humanoid. The monster had been twisted by necromancer magics so that it was only vaguely human, its fingers made into claws and its jaws transformed into hideous, fanged maws… But it still bore a ragged slash of blonde hair, some patches of skin and clothes, and a relatively humanoid structure. And trapped within this monster was the soul of one of his fellow priests.

"… Let me put him out of his misery, Ketala," he whispered in a pained voice. Ketala blinked, staring at Gydrion. Then she shook her head.

"No, Gydrion. Sometimes undeath is better, because you can still affect the world. When this is over, if death is what he wants, let it be granted to him. When he finally achieves his old intelligence, let him decide. But for now he is just beginning to… 'live' again."

"How do you know he will heal that much? This is just a…a… gross mockery of what he once was!" Ketala was silent a long, long moment.

"But it's him. And as long as his spirit's in there, he has hope. Maybe not to live again, but what is to live but to affect others. He may hate what he has become, but it is his choice on what to do with this curse and gift of half-life, not ours. This is not a gross mockery, or some perversely insane scene. This is healing. He is healing- you already see how he is different from the others."

"How can you bare them swarming around you, rotting, filthy monsters- these were _people_ once!"

"They still are people. They're just trapped. I can free them, and they can decide what to do with that freedom."

"Who would want to live as an undead abomination!" Ketala fell silent, staring at him, and Gydrion glared back. It took around half a minute to realize why her expression was so hurt, and when he finally did, he swallowed, taken aback.

"K….Ket…" He groaned and came forward, putting his arms around Ketala. She didn't lean into the hug, but she did not push him away either. "Ketala… I…" He closed his eyes tightly. "Tell me… what makes you want to go on?"

"… Life, to me, is free will and the ability to exercise it in a way that affects the world." I am alive, because I am a person. I may be clinically dead, but I can still change things, still save things, still fix things. I can defeat Arthas and save the other beings of this world. Life isn't about whether or not you're beautiful to look at, or whether or not a heart beats in your breast. It's about what you give to others. A hermit cannot live alone all his days, or loneliness destroys him. An undead can take up sword and shield, and fight the demonic hordes, and save this world for his people and for all other peoples. Out of the two, the undead truly lives, regardless of how the hermit's heart beats. We live only by how we have affected this world." Gydrion was silent a long moment. Then he sighed, squeezing her tightly.

"I'm sorry, Ketala. I wasn't thinking. Forgive me." She nodded against him, and she then backed up, smiling weakly.

"It's alright Gyrdrion." Her strange eyes shown brilliantly in the twilight around them, and she turned back to Jerod, gently patting him on the head. "For now, I shall tolerate his ugliness and his lack of sentience. And hopefully, one day, we can give the latter back to him. But now, I was wondering, could you introduce me to the Argent Dawn?"

"You have not met them yet?"

"No, I've been to busy running around the Undercity trying to figure out why my presence spooks everyone." He nodded, smiling gently at her. "And… before that… come here." She jumped down from the mound they were on and slipped down a hallway. Gydrion blinked and followed, ignoring the shades and ghouls that stopped to watch Ketala pass with expressions that passed vaguely for happy. She stepped into a rather complete room and gestured at the fallen paladin. By the look at Gydrion's eyes, he was not happy about this addition to her circle of influence, but he did not comment on his thoughts. "Ner'zhul cast him out. I'm trying to figure out what to do with him."

"Why would the Litch King abandon him?"

"He thought that it was possible that this Death Knight had my mind in his. I'm hoping to mimic that effect on a higher level with Kel'Thuzad and see if I can get Arthas to abandon him. My hopes aren't high, but it's worth a shot."

"You want to save him."

"I want to try."

"… … …Be careful with that one," he said, gesturing at the fallen paladin. "His heart and his mind are tainted. It will take more then simple kindness to save him."

"I know that, but I must try." She moved over to the paladin, eyeing him. "If I get his armor off, can you purge it?"

"Yes." She nodded and began to pull of the Scourge armor. The fallen paladin twitched lightly, and at each movement of his fingers or countenance, Gydrion tensed. The Death Knight, however, was exhausted by his ordeal, and he did not wake as he was stripped down to the blood-stained clothes beneath his armor. Ketala kicked the armor into a pile and stood back. Gydrion smirked, lifting a hand and calling a powerful holy light down upon the armor. The air above them rippled, seething with gold and white. Then it spilled open, like a yolk slipping from its shell, and transformed into a massive burst of golden light, blazing down into the armor and causing it to shrivel and crumble. After two more similar blasts, Gydrion was satisfied the armor was destroyed, and he beckoned Ketala from the room, following her out of the Lordaeron ruins and toward the Argent Dawn encampment.

* * *

Zul'vii and Illidan

Zul'vii sighed, pleased with the way things were going as she watched from her perch in a tree. Gydrion and Ketala walked toward the Argent Dawn encampment, the girl's massive lynx trotting behind them. It hadn't been a mistake to bring the paladin after all. Illidan tapped her on the shoulder and she looked back at him, grinning and nodding.

"Everything is going quite nicely." Illidan nodded beneath his mane of violet hair. Zul'vii eyed him a moment and then shook her head, reaching up and combing her fingers through it. "Honestly, how did you ever manage yourself hygienically before I came along?" He growled low in his throat, but made no further protest. In the last few weeks, the two comrades had become less and less volatile. Part of it was that Illidan was now concentrating on Arthas as his goal and enemy. Part of it was that he was getting bored with fantasies of killing her. She laughed at his resigned expression and kissed him on the nose. He, in turn, curled his nose in disdain and shoved her away, raking his fingers through his unkempt hair. She giggled, pleased to have annoyed the demon without having a blade thrown at her. He eyed her blindly and grinned sadistically, immolating and lighting the tree below them on fire. She grunted and jumped off, beating the flames off of her leather armor, and glared at him as he jumped down, the fire around the tree going out.

"I hate you," she grumbled up at him.

"Ditto," he murmured, grabbing her by the collar and pulling her to her feet. She snorted in protest, grabbing his arm and throwing it off of her, glaring fiercely at him. He chuckled, giving her a light shove Her wings whipped out and wrapped around his feet, despite the fact that he jumped to avoid them, and the tendrils yanked hard, causing him to fall on his back with a grunt. He kicked at her face and knocked her forward. Catlike, she grabbed the ground with all four limbs, and as he sat up she kneed him hard in the groin. He gave a snarl of rage that sounded suspiciously like a yelp and grabbed her arms, throwing her brutally away from him. She skidded to a halt on the ground and charged back at them, and demon and angel proceeded to roll down a hill beating the bloody snot out of each other. By the time they were done they were coated in mud, both charred, wet, cold, and sporting plenty of bruises.

"I hate you," Zul'vii repeated, nursing a dislocated arm and healing some tears in both their wings.

"Not any more then I hate you," Illidan repeated, feeling several cracked ribs, and replaying the notion of Zul'vii making a fine demonhunter in his mind.

"No, I assure you, I hate you more." He eyed her blindly, seeing the mirth in her. He grunted, grabbing her shoulder and shoving it back into place. She shrieked and kicked him in the head, and both ended up trying to yank the other's hair out. After another brawl they were both breathing hard, glaring at each other, claw marks in her cheeks from his talons and bruises on his face from her fists. Zul'vii growled at him and slowly stood up, using a tree to steady herself. He snorted, standing up on his own and leering at her. Both glared at each other a long, long moment. And then Illidan stepped forward, gently offering an arm to Zul'vii. She eyed him dangerously a moment, and then slowly took his arm, leaning on him as he helped her limp over to a rock and sit down. She grumbled, letting her healing aura flow over and heal both of them as he sat down next to her. Neither said anything to one another for a long moment… And then Zul'vii slowly leaned against the demonic Night Elf. He looked down at her blindly, and then reached over, picking up some of her muddy hair.

"You're no flower yourself," he muttered. She snorted, and shoved him off the rock and into a stream. She stood up, came over, and started working the mud out of his hair. He sneered, pulling the mud out of one of his ears. "I hope you writhe in a dungeon of hellish flame for all eternity while rats gnaw at your entrails and various fungi take root in your bone marrow."

"Well, that's new. You could write poetry."

"I wonder if your blood would taste good?" She laughed softly, kissing him on his muddy cheek. Illidan fell silent, tensing. He looked at her a long moment, and then slowly lifted a wet hand, wiping the mud from her face. The two opposite entities, in every aspect, looked silently at one another. Troll and Elf, Angel and Demon, Innocent and Betrayer, Healer and Destroyer, Kind and Uncaring, Green and Violet, Carefree and Brooding. They leaned forward, their faces hovering near one another's, their noses almost brushing against each other. They were silent, and they were still. After a long moment, they both looked away, lost in thought, and subconsciously leaned against one another in a gentle embrace.

"Hate you," Illidan murmured.

"Yep," the half troll replied.

* * *

Keever and MahiMahi

Keever breathed in hard, sitting beside the small, deformed tree at the edge of Felwood. Corruption tainted its very seed, its roots and trunk thoroughly polluted. However, life still twined within it, and it had not yet given up. Breathing was an unnecessary endeavor for Keever, and any deep breathes still brought aching pain to his shriveled lungs. It was, however, a habit he was starting to pick up on again, and he set his dagger-like fingertips around the tree, concentrating hard again. He could feel the power deep within him, and he felt the web stretching from it. Several strands reached out, and he followed them, allowing the power to lead him back to Mahi. There, within her, was a well of strength, and she gently coaxed some of the power to him, teaching him to draw off her strength. He did so, pulling the power into himself, and then forcing it out of him.

His rotten body shook with effort, his tongue contracting hard against the roof of his mouth and his eye squinting. Then he gasped, back arching as he convulsed, splitting the power out from within him and shoving it into the tree before him. The small sprout erupted with life, spitting out leaves and putting up thick defenses against the corruption, ridding itself of its corrupted parts. His eye opened and he gasped in pain, his body creaking and shaking as he stared at the marvel he had wrought on his own, his only aid being the drawing off his benefactor's magic.

There, before him, was a five foot tree, branching out with long, powerful leaves. Thorns had formed around it, the leaves ridged and loaded with poisons. It was bred to survive in this corrupted world, strengthened against the hostile elements. Mahi gently caught him as he slipped backwards, stroking his cheek and hair tenderly. He breathed in hard, looking up at her, dazed.

_You're getting better,_ she said with a smile.

"Keever did it… Made the plant… grow…"

_Strengthened it. Soon you will be able to help me with other things. Is it getting easier on your body?_ He nodded, as relieved as she was by that development. The first time he had tried to push the energy through his body had nearly snapped his spinal cord in half, it was so hard on him. However, as he became used to her energy, he became better at wielding it. He could now strengthen minor attributes as easily as he could cast a spell. Mahi attributed the strain as his own adaptation to her energy.

Now, however, MahiMahi gently formed and wrapped long almond wings around him. He sighed out, relaxing between her and the feathers, both blossoming with warmth. He praised himself for his accomplishments… Praised himself that he would soon be able to look out for himself…

And maybe Mahi need never die. He would not be able to bear it if she did.

But he needed to learn faster. War was coming. Mahi knew it, and he could feel it. Soon, his abilities would be tested. Mahi would not only send him to fight, but she would send him on off on his own… and he needed to be _ready_.

_You worry for me, _she murmured. He nodded against her, eyes forming tears. He had one, single, focal point in this world. He had one loved-one, one source of comfort and care… Thus, he could not let Mahi die, or everything worth living for would die with her.


	16. The Ranger Lord

Eee! I update quickly! Love me! Please? Please read my disclaimers and other notices at the bottem after reading this chapter .

**I beg you to review. **Thank you to everyone who reads my tale, and in specific, **Bloodstained Hands**, for finally getting to chapter 15 just as I write chapter 16 the next day: P

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* * *

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The Ranger Lord

* * *

Two Years Later  
(Eastern Plaguelands)  
(Ketala)

The Banshee Queen's champion looked silently down at Ketala, sizing her up. "Evidently you are another imbecile sent from the Undercity to train under the Queen's champion. Apparently it matters to no one that I sent the last group of you back to the Undercity in pieces… What is it that brings you to my humble… estate…?" he said smoothing, almost sadistically, and he looked, with a dark grin, at the massive piles of bones strewn around him. Ketala simply pulled out a letter, stamped with Sylvanis's seal, and offered it to him. "Oh? I'm surprised a runner from Sylvanis made it this far," he said with mocking humor, plucking the letter from her. Ketala had a feeling he didn't necessarily like anyone. "Mm. What is your name, imbecile?"

"Ketala Fiheriae. I aid Lady Sylvanis, I do not serve her." He rolled his eyes a tad, evidently hearing information that bored him, his eyes scanning over the paper. Ketala looked down at the two undead hounds around his feet, both growling lightly at her. She was silent a moment, and then knelt down.

"Careful," he said, laughing bitterly, "they bite." Ketala didn't even look at him, staring silently into the eyes of the dogs and reaching her fingers forward, touching their rotting faces. The undead champion went still, staring down at her as the dogs came up to her, sniffing her and allowing her to pet them. His hands reflexively clenched, crumpling the paper he held, and Ketala looked up at him. Her whirling eyes met his through her helmet, and she was immediately assaulted by angers, emotions, and memories. The subconscious contact seemed to relieve him of hatred, however, for he just stood silently, watching her ruffle and pet the hounds that, formally, hated all beings on Azeroth but him.

"Animal and Undead alike are drawn to you," he remarked icily.

"I've never seen an undead ranger before," she countered. He growled, unwilling to impart with information about himself in order to gain information about her. "I've never met many rangers, for that matter. But these are by far more intelligent then any wild animals I have ever met."

"Trained properly, nature picks up the cunning and intelligence of its trainer."

"That it is a compliment to you," she said softly, stroking the green, dead fur, and getting a helmet full of rotted, fleshy tongue.

"If you are not an undead ranger, what are you?" he asked after a moment of watching his hounds tongue bathe her like they were newborn puppies.

"A jack of all trades." He snorted, keeping the rest of his observations to himself, and showing no lack of dislike on his face. "What is your name, Champion of the Dark Lady?"

"Nathanos Blightcaller," he muttered. "Return to Sylvanis and tell her my response is affirmative." She nodded, standing and patting the hounds on the head.

* * *

Ketala  
(Western Plaguelands)

Ketala stood before the tomb. Or rather, she sat, mounted on her massive lynx, before the tomb. Thrash had grown in their stay at the Undercity. He was full grown now, and decorated in a beautiful splash of armors. Undercity mail and leather, paladin plate, Argent Dawn enchantments, and Night Elf runed plate, derived from Illidan's boredom. The beast's hair was beaded and braided where it sprouted through the armor, and a light coating of dirt and mud bathed its paws.

The Plaguelands were dangerous to frolic in, and Sylvanis had advised against this side trip, but Ketala had needed to see this sight. The massive lake that bordered two of Andorhal's sides had been cold, but the swim across it had been uneventful… And now she stood on one last patch of green within the corrupted landscape of this hellish place, awaiting Gydrion, who was traveling up from the southern lands.

She lifted her head, peering past her helmet at the High Priest who stubbornly guarded the tomb, holy energy blazing around one of his arms. Of course, the energy would not harm her, but she found it better to avoid confrontation with the high-strung elf. He was apparently deciding what to make of her, an undead adored in partial paladin plate, and trying to convince himself that she'd looted it. Luckily, the elf was out of attacking range, and he would not leave the steps of the tomb for anything. He was determined not to allow any corruption from the monstrous Scourge at his doorstep to desecrate the body he guarded so fervently. Ketala was silent a moment, and then slowly gripped her cat's shoulder, swinging a leg off of his back and dropping to the earth. The priest tensed, the holy energy glowing dark gold. Ketala snorted, lifting a hand and pulling the glove off, revealing her delicate, whole fingers. She turned her hand palm up, and a blaze of holy energy appeared in her palm. The elf's eyes widened and he took a reflexive step backwards, staring at her.

Ketala smirked and turned her eyes, looking at the undead deer at the base of the tomb steps. The priest's gaze followed hers and he growls, turning toward the undead with the intent to kill. Ketala moved faster. While she detested eliminating the scourge as opposed to saving its mind, she needed to make a point. She called down a massive blast of holy light, the deer crumbling under the bolt and bursting into a scattered, inanimate skeleton.

The priest stared at the skeleton a moment, and then lifted his eyes to Ketala. He was silent a long moment, his black eyes regarding her, eyebrows furrowed. After a long moment, he lifted the hand he currently had ablaze with holy energies, and beckoned to her. Ketala did not react for a moment, and then she reached up, latching her fingers into the armor on Thrash's cheek. Slowly, carefully, she stepped toward the priest, moving into his range of fire and guiding the lynx beside her. The priest did not strike out, waiting till she was within normal speaking range.

"Are you undead?" he snapped immediately. Ketala sucked in an unnecessary breath, holding her posture so her voice came out in her most humanoid accent.

"More or less. Gydrion told me not to bother you and just to wait till he got here, but it's a bit unpleasant out there."

"You know Gydrion?" he asked with a snap, eyes narrowing at her.

"Yes. I was… or am… his pupil."

"You wield holy light…"

"I train to become a paladin." He snorted, eying her distrustfully, noting that she'd stopped as soon as he'd begun talking.

"What are you here for?"

"I'm not sure. You'd have to ask Gydrion." She decided it was best not to mention that this tomb might have something to do with that purpose.

"Why did he not ride here with you?"

"I had to run an errand for Lady Sylvanis to the Eastern Plaguelands-" the priest stiffened, "and another errand for the Argent Dawn to Light's Hope chapel. He told me to meet him here today, though I'm not sure at what time."

"You are in league with Sylvanis?"

"More or less. She offers me a roof over my head and an environment that doesn't want me slaughtered for being the undead that I am, and I in turn fight the Scourge, the same as I would if I were not under her sheltering wing."

"All undead are the same. Your quarreling among each other will only make you weak."

"I am certainly not the same as the mindless zombies in the area around here. The Scourge is empty and driven only to kill. At least the Forsaken-"

"Kill willingly?" he said with biting sarcasm. She took in a long, slow breath.

"Your mentor's death has made you bitter, but mine are not the hands that slew him," she said, referring to the paladin buried beneath them. His eyes flared. "I understand your hatred for the undead, and you are deservedly angry with them, but you judge me when I follow the path _he_ decreed as the one of righteousness. Please, be fair to me in your judgment and allow that it is possible I am not a simple meat grinder. If my presence angers you, I will merely move away again and be from your sight until Gydrion arrives." He bristled with anger.

"You, yourself, said that you were running an errand for Sylvanis," he grit out.

"I assure you, I brought no harm to living persons, only to undead ones. I have enmity for very few of this world's peoples." He said nothing, just glaring at her. They heard the shout of a paladin, and Ketala turned toward the sound. "Gydrion…" She grabbed Thrash's shoulder's quickly, charging off toward the sound. She found the paladin hacking apart several very large, angry skeletons. Though Ketala could not risk them turning around and recognizing her, alerting Ner'zhul to her presence, she could bomb them from a distance. Pushing Thrash behind a hill, she peeked over the dirt mound and ruthlessly brought down bolts of holy light onto several of the scourge. After several moments, Gydrion was walking toward her, smiling and kneeling down, patting her on the head.

"Good girl, Ketala," he said with a grin. She laughed, standing up with him.

"What happened to your horse?" Gydrion winced.

"Dead."

"Ah." She mounted Thrash and offered him a hand up. He gladly took it, holding onto her as she headed back toward the tomb. Gydrion had never really gotten used to riding the cat, and thus clung to Ketala like a frightened child at every jolt and jump. The cat skidded to a halt at the path leading up to the tomb, and both riders dismounted, walking side by side back to the priest. Despite the fact that Ketala had told him about Gydrion, the elf was evidently surprised when he saw the paladin walking up to his doorstep.

"Gydrion," he said in surprise, looking between him and Ketala, evidently astounded that she had been telling the truth.

"Thel'danis," Ketala's high priest companion said, nodding to his elfin peer.

"The undead was… telling the truth?" Gydrion nodded.

"She is indeed a paladin trainee of the Silver Hand." The elf nodded slowly, swallowing.

"And… why is she here…?" he asked, fearing the answer.

"I brought her to this tomb to pay homage." Thel'danis flinched.

"I do not want that… thing… anywhere near his body!"

"I will not disturb Uther Lightbringer's peaceful rest," Ketala insisted. "He was a good man, an idol for all who fight for life, and the patron of the ideals I have taken up against my race's common disposition." The elf's eyes narrowed, and he looked at Gydrion.

"We will neither disturb nor touch anything, Thel'danis. Please." The High Priest who had and would stand so long guarding his mentor's final resting place struggled a long, long moment. Then, slowly, he stepped aside and allowed the two to pass. Ketala went first, followed by Gydrion, and leaving Thrash behind. She looked down at the plaque commemorating the fallen hero, read the inscription, and then looked up at the statue, feeling the wealth of holy energy gathered around this location. Even if Thel'danis did not so faithfully guard this location, Ketala had a feeling it would take Kel'Thuzad a long, long time to break through the shield of light and life that permeated this place. Just that she was capable of walking in the door was a testimony to her good intentions. She watched Gydrion kneel. After a moment, she followed suit, closing her eyes and slipping deep into prayer and meditation…

And what she found there amazed her.

She felt nothing but the normal, serene peace for the longest time, a normal sensation for whenever she prayed in a hallowed place, for the longest time… and then…

_You are certainly one of my stranger visitors._ Her brows furrowed outwardly, but she did not break from her semi-conscious state. _What is your name?_

… _Ketala…_

_Ketala…?_ the mental voice prompted.

_Ketala Fiheriae._

_Your name means Servant of Ice._

_It is a name I am cursed with._

_Your name should be Trua. _She was silent a moment

_That is the second time I have heard that name. Who are you that you call me by it?_

_A servant of the same power that the last entirety that named you 'Trua' worships._

_Rename me then, so that I bear a blessing as a title, and not a burden._

_Are names so important?_

_There are the means by which others identify us to others and pass on our legacy, Uther Lightbringer._

The voice chuckled warmly.

_Ketala… Ketala Truae… It is not quite perfect… But I believe it will work._

_What does it mean?_

_Roughly, 'Servant of Compassion'._

_Why do you choose to speak with me, of all people?_

_Angel, you are one of the beings that paladins flock to for guidance. I am happy to impart to you my own guidance, as you are but a fledgling now. _Ketala was silent a long, long moment, trying to piece together her thoughts about this conversation.

_Do you hate Arthas?_

_Do I hate Arthas? _A mournful sigh and the sense of a gentle smile. _No. I do not hate Arthas._ She blinked, astounded. She did not know what had provoked her to ask that question, and she was even more surprised by the answer.

_What? Why? If you do not hate him, what do you think of him? He killed you!_

… _I pity him…_

……… _You are at rest._

_And he is not._

_I see…_

_He is trapped and damned. I will never hate Arthas. I am angry at him and with him for his weakness in faith but… I will never hate him…_

_Why…?_

_My hate will not fix anything. I do not hate him for the same reason you do not hate the Scourge._

_Pawns in a bigger game… Destroyed and ruined and made into pawns of hatred…_

_Yes angel… You begin to see clearly._

_Arthas chose his path willingly._

_And he chose wrong._

_He became a monster willingly!_

_What lives will your hate save? Better to kill with pity, as you pity the Scourge, then with loathing, else you become the very monster you so detest. Hatred is a force of darkness, angel… Do not follow it…_

_I don't understand…How can I pity someone who has taken so much from all I care for?_

_Pity him for all that he does not have._

_Like what?_

_Like life… Life as you described it to Gydrion…_

_He has everything. Power, for one. And he doesn't even care about 'love' or all our mortal sentiments. He's not hurt by lack of love, and the lack of it certainly hasn't made him any less powerful. I don't understand how I can pity him without any reason but our philosophies._

_You will… Don't worry… before the time comes, you will. _

_And pity is a dangerous emotion. _

_No. Fear, and fear for the sake of others are dangerous emotions. Recognize them for what they are and control them. Do not be afraid to lose ghouls. Simply be concerned with keeping them alive._

_That doesn't make sense to me. Pity would say I do not kill the litch king, yet pity would cause the death of all those I love in that fashion. Arthas doesn't _want _to be saved, Uther._

_It will make sense one day. And when the time comes, pity and fear will both lead your hand. Make sure you choose the route that empathy sanctions… that compassion has chosen… and earn your new namesake…_

_How can I tell what leads my hand if I know one course will lead in death and the other in life? I cannot just sit there and allow him to kill the innocent! That is wrong! He doesn't want to be saved. And he wont be, for that reason._

_Then pity him for that._

_For what?_

_That he has lost what of him wanted to be saved._

_You give me no clear direction, Uther Lightbringer._

_Life never has a clear direction. Simply do not narrow your mind. There will be more to your choice then a direction._

_What choice?_

_You will see. You will see._

_What is it with disembodied voices loving to give off cliff hangers?_

Uther chuckled.

_What is it with mortals wanting to know things that will only hurt them and that they will learn about at a much more opportune time anyway?_

_It's because we're mortals. We've only got so long on this planet and we're a bit more impatient then you guys who have all eternity to float around in the afterlife._

He laughed again.

_Do not worry, Ketala. You will, somehow, figure out what to do, and you will manage it without having a stroke. _

_Am I wrong to want to save Kel'Thuzad?_

_Ketala, there is never a 'right and wrong' when it comes to attempting a course of action. It depends wholly on you. Kel'Thuzad might be beyond your power to save, but it is against your principals to try not to. _

_Sometimes one must abandon's one's principals to save one's principals._

_What do you mean?_

_Trying to save Kel'Thuzad could bring death to those I love._

_Not trying to save him ensures the death of one you love- the death of he, Kel'Thuzad, himself._

_But what if he can't be saved?_

_It does not matter whether or not he can be saved. It only matters what your principals are. Wouldn't it be such a great world if we could all know what lay behind every corner? If you could know whether or not Kel'Thuzad could be saved so you could decide whether or not to save him? He can be saved? Great, I'll do it. He can't? Nope, won't even try. That's not the way it is. You have no certainties. You only have hope. You have faith. You must have faith in Kel'Thuzad and do as your principles direct you. Do not be selfish. Do not take unnecessary risks… But if your principles state that if Kel'Thuzad can be saved, you must try to save him, as long as the cost is not too great._

_But how will I know what price is too great?_

The dead paladin sighed, falling silent, understanding her confusion, pain, and turmoil. And her impatience. He had trained many youths in his life, and had been Arthas's guardian for quite awhile.

_What words can I give you that you will understand?_

_What, god doesn't write your speeches out for you?_

_Oh no, I do this quite of my own volition._

She giggled mentally.

_Ketala, trust yourself. You'll know what to do. Weigh your options. Weigh what you believe in. And never, ever, try to guess the outcome. The outcome does not matter. It is the principles that initiate the action that matter._

_But-_

_That is the first piece of advice I will give you. The second adds onto the first. Always consider the out_comes_, so that you can plan to minimize damage. Take responsibility, and take care of those who rely on you._

_What do I do if those two clash?_

_Then you will have to do all you can to decide the right course of action. Take the responsibility, not the guilt, for what your actions end up doing._

_But what if I'm wrong?_

_If I was never wrong, do you think I'd be dead right now, child. Sometimes we will be wrong.?_

_But you're not upset with the outcome of your decisions?_

_No. Everyone has to die sometime._

_Hmm… Thanks for the advice. I'll spend at least half of my life trying to figure out everything you just said, but I'm sure you left your mark._

_Hahah… watch your mouth, little one. It'll get you in trouble some day, when someone perceives a comment like that to be rudeness instead of blunt honesty._

_Now _there_ is some straightforward advice. _

He laughed again.

_I have a question. What would you do if you found an undead in the wilderness who asked you for help?_

_I have absolutely no idea, child. I do believe I would have blasted them with holy light, and I am ashamed by that answer, now that death has pulled away any blindness I had in life._

_Hmm. I'm lucky holy light doesn't effect me, then._

_Light be with you, Ketala. Protect our peoples._

_I will. And about Arthas and Kel-_

_Just do your best by following your compassionate and pitying soul. If you join me in the afterlife, I assure you I will not admonish you._

_Well, that's a relief._

A light chuckle.

_Good luck._

_Thank you, paladin. I am honored._

Ketala's eyes opened and she blinked, looking up at a very worried Gydrion. "Thank the Light, she's awake."

"…?" was Ketala's only response as she realized she'd fainted, falling forward onto her stomach.

"Ketala, are you alright?"

"…"

"Ketala Fiheriae, can you hear me?"

"My name…" she said in one of those slightly corny, but nevertheless quite dramatic moments, "is Ketala Truae, now…"

"By the Light…" murmured Thel'danis from behind Gydrion, "she was granted a vision…"

Ketala fainted.

* * *

From Uther's tomb, Ketala went immediately back to Sylvanis to deliver the message. Neither Gydrion nor Thel'danis asked her about her fainting spell or her vision, both parting with her near silently as she road off toward the Undercity. 

Ketala Truae did not know why, but she was immensely pleased when she was instructed to return and help the undead Ranger in the Plaguelands. Perhaps something in her recognized a kindred spirit? Perhaps something in her recognized a spirit in need? Whatever the case was, she again found herself deep in enemy territory, surrounded by undead whom, if they identified her, would have every single Scourge unit in the Plaguelands after her in an instant by order of Arthas. She again found herself approaching the Marris Stead, this time remaining on Thrash as she came up the hilly landscape to the bone-littered yard. She again found herself in front of the hateful, murderous monstrosity with the two rotting dogs…

And she was glad to be there. She looked down at Nathanos challengingly as she dismounted her lynx, coming up to him and passing him the letter from Sylvanis. He flicked it open, scanned it, and then eyed her dangerously, as if she had orchestrated this all just to annoy him.

"Command me," she said simply.

"I thought you said you aided Sylvanis, but did not serve her?"

"I do believe I better help her cause and my own by being here, rather then being locked up in a room somewhere in Undercity, turning to a decaying pile of muscle-less fluid." He snarled.

"Very well. Your first task is to feed my hounds." At which point he proceeded to describe a wonderfully disgusting and putrid way of leaving ground up living rot to coagulate after tearing said rot form the bodies of slain Scourge. Unphased, Ketala simply road off and returned with the desired meal, feeding it to the excited hounds herself.

"I am glad to see there are still some undead without soft stomachs. I was beginning to fear for our reputation." Ketala eyed him, plucked some of the rot, and tossed it into her mouth, swallowing. He gave a feral grin from where he sat, casually, upon a pile of human skulls and ribs. "I hope the poisons in it kill you. You are ready for another task."

And thus began another one of Azeroth's strangest friendships.

* * *

Jerod, Lodan, Euquin  
(The Undercity)

The Abomination was still in its bed. It had been one year since Ketala had purchased it from its master, and it had been two years since the half elemental's mind had first intruded on the Abominations. Slowly, the undead monstrosity stirred, reaching up with a hooked limb and touching the bandages around its head, laced with troll's blood potion. More of its limbs moved, feeling the bandages along its torso. After a moment, it finished the examination of its damaged body and laid still again. Silence… silence… silence… Its eyes flashed open as it heard sounds outside its room.

"Euquin?" murmured a soft human voice. There was a soft padding as Jerod's ugly face came into view. His gold eyes blazed within his hollow sockets, his blue hood drooping slightly over his face. Troll's blood potions had returned most of the flesh to his face and others had minimized the deformities, leaving his mouth a natural size but filled with powerful, sharp teeth, and one of his cheeks had never filled out, so his tongue drooped out between his teeth on that side.

"Yaatthhh?" the abomination murmured out, sitting up slowly. Jerod had changed in two years. He was dressed in flowing blue priest robes, having near fully recovered from long-term possession by the Scourge. His clawed feet were booted, his clawed fingers gloved, and a staff resting in one of his hands. Many of the ghouls never fully recovered, or reverted to warriors because of the extra ability their mutated bodies gave them.

"Lodan wants you. It's a message from Ketala." Euquin took a moment to comprehend this, and Jerod repeated it for the abomination's benefit. Finally, the abomination nodded its head, standing slowly on its four, lean legs.

Jerod sighed, watching the abomination finally understand and pull herself to her feet. Her natural violet skin contrasted greatly with the pink and gray hues of her extra limbs. Unlike the ghouls, Euquin had little chance of recovering fully. Though her brain was regenerating, he was a fragmented, broken creature, with little initiative. The only thing she did to benefit any aspect of the world was to make sure her bandages were on right and thoroughly soaked with troll's blood potion. He gently took one of her hooked arms and led her out, bringing her down the reconstructed hallway. Lodan was waiting for them. Caught between worlds and ideals, Lodan had dropped his Death Knight profession… but he had never reverted back to a paladin. Instead he wore normal warrior armor emblazoned with the ensign of the Forsaken, his icy blue eyes watching as Jerod led the Abomination up, his white hair tied back in a pony tail.

"Euquin?" he asked, saying it slow. He had never really liked the Abomination, not truly understanding Ketala's fascination with the destroyed being. Still, he couldn't really complain. While his professed allegiance was to the Dark Lady, he served Ketala first and foremost. If she asked him to treat the abomination fairly, then he would do so. She looked at him, her face still so elfin even if the rest of her had been destroyed. "Ketala has a mission for you. She wants to know if you'll go for her?" The abomination bobbed her head up and down after a moment, signaling her willingness. Lodan nodded, his eyes flicking shut as he transferred the abomination's answer over the empathy link Ketala shared with all her 'minions'. Immediately, Euquin's eyes rolled up and she quivered, pulling her arm away from Jerod. Ketala's mind overtook control of her body, and she moved forward with purpose and will, her conscious sitting snuggly beside Ketala's own and watching everything, letting the half-elemental nurture and teach her directly. Together the two entities formed one directive, and the abomination moved out of the Undercity ruins.

* * *

Ketala and the Ranger Lord  
(Eastern Plaguelands)

Nathanos watched Ketala ride off, heading for another objective. In the brief weeks since Sylvanis had sent him this jewel fighter, he had accomplished more then he had with whole battalions of common Undercity Deathstalkers, the warriors of the Forsaken. He had not forgotten Sylvanis's written warning to keep her away from prying Scourge eyes, and he marveled sometimes of how she remained anonymous in a land so filled with the Scourge's putrid touch. So far, he had kept her on missions against the Scarlet crusade… but this time, he had sensed… reluctance in her… For the first time, he had asked her to kill one of the humans. Though Ketala had undoubtedly heard much of the humans fanaticism, he could feel in her the strangest notion he had ever come across…

Ketala, his jewel fighter… did not like killing. She liked fighting. She liked defeating her enemies… But any time she slew something, he felt an unhappiness in her.

The ranger watched her return walking slowly, Thrash at her side. Her steps were short and slow, her head down, and the oracle's head dangling by the hair in one of her hands. His lips curled with pleasure at the blood and discomfort on his fighter's half-hidden countenance.

"What is this, worm?" he asked with a cruel smile. "You regret the death of your enemy?"

"I do not regret the death of an enemy," she said softly. "I regret the death of the woman who was my enemy." She tossed the head to him. "Here. Let it add to your collection." He gave a short laugh, pulling out the bow, wand, and shield he had to offer her as payment.

"There, there, sweet Ketala. Pick your reward."

She merely snorted and thrust a package to him. He blinked, taking it, watching her sit down on a pile of bones and carefully clean her treasured scimitars, now wet with blood. He had not yet seen those elegant blades in action… But he had no doubt of Ketala's battle prowess. The trophies she returned were proof of her skill. Carefully, he examined the package, and then opened it, regarding the contents.

"The Quel'Thalas registry," he murmured, slowly stroking over the cover. Then he lifted his head, looking sharply at her. How had she known this was something he longed for? Did she also know what he was? The only human Ranger Lord to have ever lived? The only human to have ever studied under the elves about the ways of the forests? In this registry was a record of his living life, something he had fought to locate… And just when he was pondering on fetching the registry, she showed up with in. Snarling, he stood up and came over to her. "Why did you bring me this piece of trash, imbecile?"

"Because you wanted it."

"And how, dear Ketala, did you managed to come up with that knowledge?" Ketala sighed, lowering her scimitars and looking up at the angry being. Her eyes bored into his, flaming brilliant orange, and he took an involuntary step backwards, flinching. After a moment, he hissed, turning away from her and gripping onto the side of his home, his nails clenching tightly into the wood, forming deep grooves. "What… what _are_ you…?" he snarled out. Ketala did not respond for a long, long moment. Then, slowly, she stood up, the bones stirring as she rose. She came up behind him, gently touching his forearm. He turned his head, looking at her, careful not to let their eyes lock again. "Unchanged by death," she said after a long moment. "That is what I am."

"You are not bothered by rot and decay."

"I see past rot and decay. I always have. Do you know what most of these dead Alliance were doing here?"

"No, and I don't care."

"They were trying to find Nathanos Marris and avenge his killer, the Blightcaller." Nathanos blinked and burst out laughing.

"Oh, how devastating it must have been to have learned that Marris and Blightcaller were one and the same."

"In a way, their assumptions were right." He blinked, eyeing her. "Marris seems to have been killed off, and only Blightcaller remains," she said softly.

"Do you think those words have any value to me?"

"Do you know that you have a living family?"

"Yes, and damn them all," he said with a sneer, shoving her aside and walking back to his dogs, sitting back on his throne of bone and caring for his bow. And yet, in one hand, he still clutched the Quel'Thalas registry.

"That you were engaged?" He paused in his motions only briefly before continuing.

"Oooh? I hope she enjoys 'relations of the flesh' cold."

"Then why do you still clutch that registry?" He tossed it brutally into a pile of mud. Ketala was silent, watching him for a long moment. Then she turned, and she walked away.

* * *

She returned to Light's Hope Chapel later that night, exchanging her Scourge Stones for Valor Tokens. Primarily, she brought in Invader and Corrupter Scourge Stones, leaving the encampment to wonder why she never killed any minions, or why she never returned with a scratch on her… Or why she never went out on any raids or quests… 

Any who had witnessed her fight noted that she remained unseen in the shadows, bombing her opponent with holy light and other tactics. For some reason, the opponents would flounder about helplessly, unable to divine the cause of their pain, and she would weave her way cloaked through the Scourge, staying out of their range of smell (for everyone knew zombies found their opponents primarily via sense of smell) and picked up the stones from her opponents. The Argent Dawn, unlike almost every other good society, had no problem with undead. They let her on her way, and made no comment as she curled up inside the church for the night. They made no comment as her mind sought out Euquin… and began her mission…

Lodan watched the Abomination go, each of her tortured limbs moving with purpose and life…

* * *

Flashback - Two Years Earlier

Ketala had pulled him from the river, had saved him from Kel'Thuzad and Arthas. She and her companion, Zul'vii. At first, when he woke up in the Lordaeron ruins, he was angry and confused. His litch enchanted armor had been ruined, he had been abandoned by his master, and he had no means by which to defend himself.

But the two had not abandoned him there. He sincerely doubted either one had the ability to abandon anyone. As disgusted as he was by how Ketala lavished her ghouls and gargoyles with attention, bandaging them and lacing them with troll's blood, he could not keep from admiring her success and ability…

Perhaps it was their auras working on his mind. He tended to believe it was something more, something within her fiery and powerful that attracted those around her… And at the same time repulsed them.

He watched her tend to Jerod, speaking with him slowly and deliberately so he picked up every word. Grimacing, he turned away from her, nursing his own wounded pride. As he turned, she lifted her head… and their eyes met…

Those eyes saw everything. They saw deep, deep within him. They watched him charge through villages, ripping and hacking apart the innocent, young and old alike. They watched him order an abomination to engorge itself upon a small pit of children… and they watched him laugh at their screams…

And still, those eyes called gently, forgivingly, pulling him in and soothing him. Overwhelmed by a thousand emotions he had not felt since becoming Scourge, he turned fully away, and collapsed to his knees. He was broken now… Torn, and broken, and crushed… His faith had been built up and ripped from under him so many times…

A gentle hand touched his back, coaxing him away from despair and torment. Gentle arms did not only free his will… They freed his mind… Slowly, he relaxed. Slower sill, he curled up in her embrace, like a child seeking attention from a mother. Sylvanis could give her Forsaken a life, but only Ketala could help them live it again. From then on out, he had donned the armor of a warrior… and he had gone out for the sake of the Undercity, for the sake of the Argent Dawn, and, first and foremost, for the sake of Ketala Fiheriae and Zul'vii, half troll.

Of the Mahi they spoke of, however, there had been no sign in the two years he had staid at Ketala's side.

* * *

Dear reader. Yes, I know Uther's speech with Ketala is a bit confusing. That's what Ketala thinks. Until events later in the story clarify things for you, just think of it as like a pep talk from someone you really, really, really respect. Please, anyone who loves Uther, don't hurt me. I find him an awesome character, and did my best to portray him as a wise old dead guy who has been released from prejudice and hatred by death. I _like_ Uther. He's cool. Don't hurt me x.x. I did my best. 

My intent of the speech was to get you thinking about how the heck she's going to handle her conflicts with Kel'Thuzad and Arthas. It was also meant to give Ketala a pep talk and tell her that she should follow her compassionate roots, and to plan for, not worry about, the fact that Kel'Thuzad might be beyond salvation. Lastly, it was meant to introduce her to the subject that hating anyone is wrong.

Please comment on the speech, and tell me if you felt I hit those points. Please don't just go "I was confused," because that tells me nothing, and you might just be confused for reasons I wanted you to be confused. If you tell me how you were confused I can decide whether or not I need to change something or whether or not you just missed something. I tend to go off on a rant and lead madly from subject to subject whenever my characters are discussing philosophy, I know O.o… bear with me.

Yes, I do realize I've become very fond of Ketala. This is not because she's the most important character, but because she has the most to do o.O After all, she's got to somehow save the souls of countless undead, bring back the conscious of the Half night elf, overthrow Arthas, save Kel'Thuzad, etc, etc, etc…

Hehe, can you tell I've been traveling in the Western and Eastern Plaguelands for the first time? I finally know some people there :P


	17. To kill or not to kill humans

(Hey, just repaired this chapter. I found alot of problems with Euquin's speech with Ander (I was originally going to make her go to Thel'Danis, so I accidently called Ander an elf x.x) Anyway, if you couldn't understand something, please rescan the text so your confusion can be sated.)

Hello, hello, and thank you again for sating my review hunger. Look at this! 3 updates in 3 days! You have made the Fanfiction Gods happy. Continue to do so! hehe ! Keep reviewing or I shall stop writing!

I'm so happy :)

Anyway! I'm glad Uther's Speech was confusing and yet old wise dead guyish enough to get you all through without giving you minor brain hemorages. **Doomreaper**, I appologize for my fast typing and thusly my mistakes. I know well the horrors of accidently using 'she' to describe Uther, and I haistily scanned every 'she' and 'her' in the entire document to make sure the Uther fans didn't come after me with pitchforks. They're a scary lot they are o.o. I hope I didn't miss one.

In the meantime, I noticed that this book is longer then my largest pure fiction one o.o. You guys must be lucky, you've had me writing more and more frequently then a book I spent every day of a part of my life writing.

**Koegh, **thank you for your review, and I"m glad I inserted interesting ideas into your mine without a chisel and hammer being neccessary:P

**Yeth, **I am sorry about the poor abomination. Don't worry, she'll become the main charecter she always deserved to be, but whether she is ever fully restored or not is up to me :P

**MidniteSteve**, your comment did mean alot to me. Every little bit helps. Thank you.

PS: I appologise if Sylvanis's name is actualy SylvanAs. Too late to change it now! x.x

* * *

And now, does anyone like my addition of Nathanos Blightcaller? Does anyone here play WoW? Has anyone had the misfortune of raiding Nathanos? (Yes, it takes a raid just to take down him and his two pets, no dungeon involved or anything. He just sits out there on Marris Stead, all on his lonesome. The only 'minion's' hes entitled to are any horde that show up to defend him, cause he gives quests for us and he's a quest mob for the Alliance :P) Nathanos is uber. I saw him take on a whole raid and obliterate them, and I just had to put him in my fic. And yes, he does call you imbicile and worm at a constant rate.

* * *

**To Slaughter Humans or Not To Slaughter Humans, That Is The Question **

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* * *

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Euquin  
(Somewhere South of the Undercity) 

The abomination crawled silently over the ground, using all of its hooked limbs to support it like a millipede.

Half Night Elves were the rarest 'species' in the world. First of all, Night elves were generally infertile. Second of all, half elves were all but unheard of. There had never been a recorded half elfin pregnancy, though there were a rare few individuals that sported mixed traits. But the whole problem with a half Night Elf was the simple problem that Night Elves and Humans had had no connection before their initial contact around 8 years ago.

Needless to say, eight years was not the time required for a Half Night Elf to mature into a young adult. Thus, the only possible way for a Half Night Elf to exist would be if a Night Elf or Human somehow crossed the sea for some hitherto unknown reason, mated with, and somehow produced valid offspring with a native of the other land. It was safe to assume that this Half Night Elf was one of a kind, the only Half Night Elf to ever exist. It was sad, then, to note that such a remarkable rarity was now a destroyed, undead, infertile monstrosity, with the same sentient awareness of a piece of beef jerky.

Her body was still lithe and elegant, her only marring features being the hooked limbs stretching out from her body, and the bandages swathed around her. Slowly, she crept down a hill, hugging against the ground. The silhouette in front of her moved, and she grabbed her cloak, quickly wrapping it around her. She had had practice with this, and Ketala and she had gotten this wrapping to the state that she could expose many of her Night Elfin features, such as her lithe, violet skin,her beautiful face and her pointed ears without showing off her deformities. The silhouette turned toward her,observant eyes turning immediately to look at her.

High Paladin Ander might have sensed the undead taint from where he stood… But then, there was so much undead taint in the region, he might have mistaken it for the Scourge populating the area. Immediately upon seeing the wounded Nightelf, he moved from where he was keeping watch, coming up to her with concern in his eyes.

"Are you hurt?" were the first words that came out of his mouth. Euquin lifted her eyes, looking at thehuman above her with painand resignation.

"In ways," she drawled out in a thick, pained voice, "that would make any healer shudder… Another mind guides mine now, giving me strength and hope. She desires information." His eyes narrowed, and he stood back, regarding her pale color for the first time.

"What are you?"

"An abomination," she said emotionlessly, not even flinching as he lifted his battle hammer. "Please, do not kill me. My death would pain her, and I would not want to be the cause of any anguish done to her."

"Sylvanis?" he asked icily, appalled at this further sin on the part of the Dark Lady.

"No. A Forsaken created me, yes, but not on the bidding of Sylvanis. I was designed to be mindless, like a clockwork creation.It was my fateto endlife, without further burden to my conscious, and rest in peace, whenever my master no longer had need of me.However,my mind endured into the undeath, and my soulwas trapped in this undead form… Ketala's mind rescued mine from my purgatory… And though I am not whole, I am free from slavery."

"Ketala? Gydrion's protégée? Yes… I had heard him speaking about recontacting her in the Undercity… I told him it was a fool's mission."

"Gydrion was reunited with Ketala, and he continues to teach her the ways of the paladin."

"Seems more a death knight if she commands beings like you."

"Do not judge her so, Ander. She commands me only because I am incapable of commanding myself. When my mind has fully recovered from what has been done to me, she will let me choose my own path. She has already done so for all that have achieved sentience under her wing. Most decide to stay with her, she who has given us back our souls and our will to survive. We stay with herto save this world, even if we may not walk beneath its sun as freely as the other races of this world due to what has happened to us." Ander eyed her doubtingly.

"And how are you an abomination? You seem fairly Night Elf to me."

"I hide my more grotesque features so that you will not hate me more for my appearance- a thing I cannot change."

"What are you here for, undead?"

"Ketala has questions. She asks that if you are unwilling to speak with me, you tell me so, so that I may leave unharmed. As I said, she worries for me. I am not quite certain why… but she does…" He was silent, eyeing the Night Elf a long moment. "She appeals to you as the paladin trainee you once smiled at… And she pleads for you to see that this is merely the way she knows how to heal- to look past gore and see her intentions are as pure as ever."

"To defeat the undead?" he asked with a bit of sarcasm.

"To defeat the Scourge, those who began the undead plague and brought so much death and suffering. The Forsaken fight the Scourge for that same cause." He was silent a long, long moment, staring down at the violet skinned creature.

"Why does she not come on her own, but send her minions like this? Is she so cowardly?"

"She is currently in the Eastern Plaguelands, and she needs answers now. Though she detests sending any of those under her wing, I am the one she can work through the easiest."

"What does she wants of me?"

"Information on the Scarlet Monastery. You must understand that she receives a biased view from the Undead. The Monastery attacks undead without mercy, slaughtering Scourge and Forsaken alike without distinguishing sentient being from ruthless meat grinder. As she aids Sylvanis, she desires to know about the Monastery and about the human viewpoint on it. The Monastery seems biased, arrogant, and hateful, but she would know more about them before accepting any missions from Sylvanis to push the Scarlet Monestary back. Slaughtering innocents is not one of her favorite pastimes. After all, the Scarlet Monastery shows no more favor to the Forsaken then the Silver Hand does, and Ketala would certainly not condone an attack on Stormwind. The only Human opinion she has on the matter is from a memberof the Argent Dawn, who considers them all blasphamers for taking their killing passion to the extreme. Needless to say, anyone who refers to another group of people as 'blasphamers' also has a very biased opinion." Ander was silent, stroking his beard a moment.

"The Scarlet Monastery is a paladin order, just like the Silver Hand. They, however, believe in a more…" he sighed, looking for the word, "violent approach. They see everything undead as an abomination under the Light, as filth to be rid from the world. We see the undead as an enemy, and we recognize the basic fact that you can be aligned with the Forsaken. You can reason with the Forsaken, make treaties with them, and they are… not necessarily an evil force, even if they are our enemy," he allowed. "One example of this was our adhering to the cease-fire set down by Lady Proudmoore."

"But in the opinion of the Scarlet Monastery, anything that was formally dead is as bad as Archimonde himself." Ander nodded. "She asks your guidance. In the Plaguelands, there are Scarlet Monastery divisions. The Monastery strikes out against the Scourge, but they also attack the Forsaken without discrimination. True, they are only fighting for what they believe in, but as they engrain themselves further and further into the Plaguelands, it is evident that the war between them will end in only one of two ways- they will eradicate all undead, or the undead will eradicate them. Ketala has tried working around the Monastery, targeting only the Scourge, but this approach results only in the Humans taking advantage of the situation and attempting once more to kill Forsaken. Ordinarily, the presence of the Monastery could be a necessary annoyance… but they will not leave when the Scourge all lie dead. They will turn their attention on Undercity."

"Let me understand this… Ketala wants my _permission _to kill members of a fellow priesthood?"

"… It would ease her conscious. She sees no other way to deal with the Monastery but to fight back."

"… … Tell Ketala that the conflict between the Monastery and the Undercity is a war, plain and simple. There is no good side, and there is no bad side. There are merely allies and merely enemies."

"Ah."

"Peace is preferred where it can be found… But in the face of Scarlet fanaticism, I don't know if she has that option." The Half Night Elf Abomination nodded.

"Ketala expresses her thanks. She asks you remember her well, and forgive her for what she must do."

"Would Ketala fight against Stormwind if full-blown conflict was inevitable?" he asked, deciding to test Ketala and discover her intents. The Abomination was silent a long, long time.

"No. Ketala would never fight for or against Stormwind in such a conflict. She would run, and she would attempt to show both sides the foolishness of the conflict and to stop the war. But she would never participate in such a bloodbath."

"Yet she would fight the Scarlet Monastery?" he prodded, attempting to see if Gydrion's protégée had the strength of character to figure out the correct answer.

"The Scarlet Monastery, if she had shown up outside their city, lost, confused, and pleading for sanctuary from Arthas, would have had her slain, her pleas having fallen on entirely deaf ears. There is a difference between conflict and blind hatred. Even so, she shall fight for peace with the Scarlet Crusade, and for the end of this conflict, so that neither the Monastery nor the Undercity need be wiped out." He smirked, nodding.

"Now that's what I wanted to hear," he said, his testing of the half elemental's character complete.

"She thanks you, and she is glad to have reached this conclusion. She has been trying to decide what path is right for her to follow for quite some time."

"I have questions now. Why come to me for advice?"

"She finds you a blunt, rude, honest person who thinks with both head and heart." He lifted a brow and then burst out chuckling.

"And how did she know where I was?"

"That is the second reason I am here. Ketala asks you redouble your efforts to seal your city from hidden eyes. Shades pollute the city, and she is hard pressed to catch each one and pull it under her influence."

"And the Shades knew I had left and was heading this way on a mission."

"Yes. She also desires you to know that there is a band of undead trolls ahead planning an ambush at the canyon." Ander nodded gravely, staring at the violet-skinned creature.

"… What is so abominable about you?" Euquin was silent a long moment, unmoving. Then, slowly, she stretched out the hooked limbs from her cloak, and his face hardened, his hand tightening reflexively on his hammer.

"I don't even have hands," she said mournfully. "Ketala is trying to find any way to help me." He nodded.

"You best get out of here. Ketala may still be an entity of good in this world, but you are still undead. If my scouts catch you here, I will not save you from them." She nodded, understandingly.

"I go, then. Ketala and I thank you." Euquin turned, pulling the cloak fully over her body again, and then crept off. The journey through the Plaguelands would be difficult, but her lineage would hide her from most Scourge eyes, and Ketala knew the land well enough to help her avoid the Scarlet Crusade. She needed to make haste. Zul'vii would be rendezvousing with the half elemental soon. If Ketala were to ask Zul'vii to heal the abomination, then the abomination ought to be there to be healed. From above, she leapt down on a skeletal mage, wrapping her many limbs around it and cramming it in a tight 'embrace,' and immobilizing it, jamming its jaws open so it could not speak words required for any spells. Her arms then lifted up and slashed downwards, ripping apart the skeletal monstrosity until there was nothing left of it but shattered bones. Silently, Euquin continued onward, and Ketala alone prayed for her safety.

One priority had been resolved - what to do about the Scarlet Monastery. TheCrusade was no to be viewed as the enemy. Though peace negotiations were to be considered, they were allowably targets.

Only two directions needed to be decided now. The first was what to do about Kel'Thuzad. The other was how to go about the assault on Arthas. The forces of the world were building up, all barely contained behind dams. The Horde was ready for ward. Trolls schemed, Orcs battled, and even the mighty, peaceful Tauran were ready for some kind of action, some focus in order to end conflict. The Alliance was ready. Theramore sported an armada of ships, the majority of which had no docking space at the main island and were thus in protected islands all over Dustwallow. The Nightelves were poised. The Humans were anxious.

In theory, Ketala could sit back and assimilate the entire Scourge under her influence, until every single one of Arthas's minions was free under her sheltering wing. Theory would take longer then Ketala had. If they did not give the races a shared enemy, the conflict would begin between the two powers, and the mortal races would crumble.

Kel'Thuzad needed to fall now, and the way to Arthas needed to open. Only then would all the races, all unified by their loathing for the Litch King, band together and fight side by side.

* * *

Ketala and Nathanos  
(Eastern Plaguelands)

Nathanos watched silently over his jewel fighter, her scimitars arcing gracefully through the air as she put shame to the sword wielding skills of the Scarlet Monastery. Her mouth murmured words, triggering various elemental responses in her blade to counter magic and bite through armor with ease. He could sense the heaviness in her, the sadness at what she was doing… And then she paused, staring ahead. Nathanos followed her gaze to a female undead being held prisoner. Behind her was a female human mage, smiling cruelly and holding a dagger to the prisoner's throat. He could no longer understand Common to its fullness, but he still recognized the taunting words thrown at Ketala. His jeweled fighter held still, pleading in return… only to watch the mage mercilessly tear a gash through the undead's throat and lift the blade up, plunging it down into the female's left eye and deep into her brain…

All sadness left Ketala. Her eyes turned a deep, whirling blood red and she charged forward. From then on, her scimitars turned from graceful dancers into pure, blood-stained art. One slit the mage from navel to nose, spilling her open. The others found marks in monks and paladins and priests, finding the most effective marks instead of the most painless. Scarlet Crusaders crumbled in bloody, screaming heaps, and still Ketala went on, charging through the towers and hacking apart all in her path.

Nathanos purred, jumping to the ground and following her. He did not even bother pulling back an arrow in his bow, marveling at the beautiful efficiency that was his jewel fighter. She killed fast, hard, and with ease and grace, leaving a slaughtered mess behind for him to smile at.

He found her at last at the top of the tower, surrounded by bloody carcasses, both scimitars unsheathed and dripping with bright red blood. Her expression was heavy again, her eyes surveying the damage that her raged self had done.

"So," he murmured from the shadows, coming up toward her, "there is a killer in that body after all."

"There is a task-handler," she said simply. "A task-handler incapable of speech, or aid, or debate. It sees certain tasks it must perform, certain factions that must be dealt with in certain ways, and it sees the path to its objective."

"A perfect killer," he said softly, almost in her ear.

"I find no joy in killing- only necessity."

"No, indeed, you hardly like killing Scourge. Sensitive worm, I'd think you'd be better off as simply 'the task-handler'," he said with a leering, taunting tone.

"I might no like it, Nathanos… But I do it. And, unlike all the other undead that flock to you, I always succeed." His expression turned into one of his trademarked, cruel grins.

"Yes, you do worm. Do not disappoint."

"And another thing- do not send me off on any tasks you plan to come and watch. As you are there, free, and quite capable of them, I will merely sit back and wait for you to do as you want done," she said darkly, turning and glaring at him. He chuckled darkly.

"Merely desired to see my loyal little imbecile in action." He patted her gently on the head, and then turned, walking off, his footsteps as silent as any rogue, and his two hounds following behind, stealing chunks out of Scarlet Crusade bodies. Ketala watched him go for a moment, and then she knelt, reaching under a chair.

Nathanos paused upon hearing the chair move lightly, and he turned, looking behind him. Everything was dead, save… he stared down at the being curled beneath a chair. It was a small boy, and Ketala had shoved him hastily underneath the protective shield so that he was not harmed in the scuffle. She looked down at him now with surprise and self loathing on her face…

His jeweled fighter knelt, slowly moving the chair and wrapping her hands around the boy's torso. The task-handler had recognized one of the factions Ketala described subconsciously. There were Forsaken, who were allies… There were Scourge and Scarlet Crusade who were enemies… and then there were children, who took only subdual damage. Nathanos snorted silently, drawing back his bow and aiming. The arrow whistled forward, aiming directly at the child's head. Ketala shifted, willingly taking the shaft in her shoulder armor and wincing as it buried into the chain mail and flesh.

"Children are not for killing, Nathanos Blightcaller. In rage, I might be capable only of damaging, and not of aiding… But I am always in control of how much damage I deal. Children are not for killing." She stood slowly, cradling the crying child. "I will kill them. I will kill them because if I do not, they will orchestrate my death. For children, there is always hope. Children are helpless, and cannot bring me harm. Thusly, children are not for killing. They are not my enemy, and I will not let you harm them if I can stop you." He stiffened, watching her bear the child out of the tower, both of them silent. He followed her all the way back to the Argent Dawn encampment, watching her set the child under the watchful gaze of an undead warrior there.

The boy was so hysterical and frightened, he did not even notice that his new caretaker had long since met his grave, and allowed himself to be held, clutching tightly to the armor of the undead warrior. Ketala spoke with his new caretaker a moment, and then went over to speak with a few other Argent Dawn, one of them being human. Nathanos blinked as the two conversed as if they were long-time friends, discussing the war and the events of Undercity and Stormwind alike with equal interest-

"REND AND TEAR!" A shout went up from the scouts as a mammoth, yellow-skinned abomination lumbered toward them, cleavers held at ready. Immediately, paladins had holy energy blazing in their palm. Warriors had swords out, mages prepared bolts of lightning, frost and flame. And Nathanos stared as holy light blossomed around Ketala's left hand.

"Sacer Lux et Pyro!" she yelled, the flame coating her blades and merging with the holy arcane fire already there. The two, similar energies surged and spilled from the blade in sparking columns as Ketala charged forward, directly at the abomination. Her blades met its cleavers, her body dodging the blows with grace and speed. one scimitar slashed over its arm, causing the Abomination to bellow as it lost control of that limb. The other Scimitar ripped across the Abominations half-spilt gut, carving its abdomen open further and boring holy flame throughout its system. She jumped out of the way of its flailing fists, dancing to the side, and carved deep into one of its legs. By then, the rest of the defenders had reached the monster, and it fell with a thunderous scream. Nathanos pulled back from his hiding spot, staring at Ketala as she bombed the Abomination with holy fire a single time, ensuring it would never rise again. An undead ranger was a rarity. And undead Ranger Lord was unique in its own right. But an undead paladin? That defied the normal working laws of the universe. Undead burned at the touch of holy flame. It was impossible for them to wield it. Yet Ketala wielded it. It came easily to her call, pouring down from the sky to her every need and whim. An undead paladin...

Truly, there was more to his jewel fighter then met the eye.

* * *

When she returned, she found him perched, as was his custom, on a bone pile, playing fetch with his hounds, throwing various human body parts off for them to find. 

"My next mission, Champion of the Banshee Queen?" were the first words that came out of her mouth. He looked up at her, and she saw, for just a moment, a flash of pain in his burning eyes before he gave a customary cruel grin.

"I remember my death. Do you remember yours, worm?"

"Yes. I laid with my back flat against the ground as Kel'Thuzad drove a sacrificial dagger through my heart." She could tell, from very, very subtle muscle twitches in his face, that she had perked his interest. "I called him 'Guardian', because he had raised me from infancy. I was to be Arthas's new favorite toy and weapon. I was told that I was half elemental, though I do not understand how it would be possible for an elemental to breed. My scimitars are designed for a being just like me, a being of overwhelming elemental potential. Through them, I can wield any of the primary or secondary elements, and even add a holy or evil twinge to them."

"And now you seek revenge?"

"No. Kel'Thuzad is the one who set me free. I was never entirely undead. I have been told this is because of my elemental heritage. Thus, I was never entirely Scourge. My will was bound to Arthas's only by my own sense of obedience to Kel'Thuzad. Thus, only Kel'Thuzad could have set me free..." Nathanos blinked, staring at her. "And, for some reason, he did, and told me never again to heed his call. I seek to free him from the Scourge, even if it is more then likely his soul is too dark to save."

"You have a sense of filial loyalty toward him."

"I have a sense of filial loyalty to the being who saved me from my fate as Arthas's pet, but I do not condone what Kel'Thuzad has done. It is more then likely, as I said, that his heart is as black and tainted as Ner'zhuls, but I must try."

"And that is why you asked Sylvanis to be responsible for Kel'Thuzad's downfall- so that she has no jurisdiction to kill him."

"Exactly."

"You grow stranger and stranger with every tale I hear, worm."

"I do, don't I? You know what is also strange?"

"Do tell."

"I am only eleven." He blinked, staring at her a long moment.

"And Kel'Thuzad found me here in the Plaguelands. I was once an infant whose real parents dwelled here... And that means any of these Scourge I fight could be my family... And I go off to try and save the reason they're all dead. Life is full of ironies." He smirked, cruelly.

"I was slain by a monster known as Ramstein the Gorger. I still remember it, still remember being raised as Scourge, thankfully spared from the necromancer magics that rot the mind and destroy the body to make ghouls. Kill him, Kill that which took my life from me."

"As you wish, Blightcaller. You know what another Irony is? Due to my young age, I might be serving my family at the moment, rather then fighting them," she said, turning and mounting her cat, sprinting off. It took him a full minute to understand her last comment, and when he did, he swore. She was insinuating that, since they both knew so little about their own lives before death, they could even be related.

* * *

When Ketala returned to the Marris Stead, Nathanos was perched on the roof of his destroyed home, clutching a muddy register and reading slowly over its contents. She hid a smile, pleased, as she watched him swiftly pocket the book, ensuring that she could not be _positive_ of what he was reading. The half elemental simply dropped Ramstein's bloated head on the ground. 

"Be satisfied with your vengeance, Blightcaller. I wonder, though. You hate humans with such fervor, yet you loath even more that which took humanity and life from you. Is it possible that your cruelty is, like my task-keyed rage, the way you have adapted to the human's hatred for the undead and unacceptance of yourself?" He snarled, showing decayed gum and tooth, jumping from the roof.

"I do not miss my humanity for an instant. I merely do not like being defeated-"

" 'Kill that which took my life from me'," she murmured softly. His eyes flamed with pure utter loathing, but glaring into her eyes for one moment pulled the flame from underneath him, and set him stalking off again. She watched him go, wondering how to reach and help the tormented Ranger Lord. Shrugging and wondering why she bothered, she turned and headed back to the chapel to rest the night away.

Her mind screamed with pain and she gasped, coming awake instantly. Somewhere, some mind touched by her own was in agony. She convulsed, unused to feeling such powerful consciousnesses being torn away from her, and wondered, in horror, if Jerod or Lodan were in trouble, or perhaps one of Kel'Thuzad's body guards.

To her relief, none were harmed, though the body guards stirred slightly at her concern. But then where was this agonizing void coming from-? Her eyes widened and she got to her feet, leaving her pack and possessions behind. "THRASH!" The lynx was almost to the door before she was out of it, and she climbed to her mount's back, bounding off. She sensed the blood and pain before she ever reached the battle. Cresting a hill, she looked down in horror, watching the two green hounds ripping apart a mounted Night Elf. Ketala had never before seen another of the great feline mounts, but she had little time to look at the beautiful, blood-stained Frostsaber Tiger as her eyes flew over the battle. There, alone in a see of alliance, was Nathanos. He had dropped his bow and was wielding two gruesomely spiked axes, hacking away at the alliance. With a blast, he struck fear into the warriors and paladins around him, sending them fleeing over the hills...

And for the first time, Ketala realized why Nathanos always preferred to fight where death had already reached its greed hands. There, all around him, raised from the piles of bones that littered his yard, were around 50, bright blue skeletons, their clawed fingers tearing through Nathanos's enemies as the fear was ended and the warriors returned. Those who had proven themselves to the Ranger Lord, a few Forsaken and an orc, battled alongside him, desperately trying to protect their Ranger Lord.

What was worse was that these alliance were just that- Alliance. They were not the Scarlet Monastery, and Ketala owed loyalties to them as much as she did to the Undercity. That did not stop her as she lept from her mount, her paladin plate keeping Alliance eyes from suspecting her to be undead as she made her way to Nathanos- and was astonished when he shoved her out of the way.

"My task, remember? You don't want to participate in any mission I'm around to fight for!" he said with an insane laugh. Ketala shuddered, backing up and covering her ears to block out the sounds of screams from so many innocent living... One paladin apparently detected her undead taint, and hurled a holy bolt at her. Of course, this did nothing, so he shouted an apology, thinking that his sensing had made a mistake, and returned back to the battle, only to have his head cleft open by one of Nathanos's axes.

And then, suddenly, after what seemed like an eternity, Nathanos's rotted body could take no more punishment. A sword cleaved across his middle and he dropped, exhausted. Holy light flared down at him as one over-exuberate Alliance conveniently forgot about the skeletons milling around him as thick as fog, trying to make sure the abomination that was Nathanos Blightcaller was dead. Ketala's mind shrieked in agony from all this death and pain from so many conscious, living minds. The Alliance member only managed one or two shots before he was taken down... It was a long time later... or maybe only seconds- she couldn't tell- that Ketala opened her eyes and lowered her hands from her ears. Slowly, shaking, she crawled forward, through the gore, and pushed a dwarven body aside. With all the tenderness she could muster, she turned Nathanos gently onto his back. His body had been hastily looted, his precious axes gone and his bow missing. even his cloak had been stripped- anything that they could get away with before the skeletons overwhelmed them. Ketala had no idea if any Alliance had escaped... And she wasn't sure whether she didn't care... or whether she mourned so terribly it had made her numb. Nathanos's closed eyes were sunken, but there was nothing to tell her whether his unlife had ended or not.

"Nathanos?" she murmured, placing one hand over the wound in his stomach, and another on his shoulder, shaking him with the latter of the two limbs. "Nathanos, please... wake up." She watched a muscle twitch in his cheek and she sighed out in relief, reaching into her pack and puling out a superior troll's blood potion, drenching his stomach wound and abdomen with it. He hissed, his eyes opening to slits. Ketala pushed an arm under his neck, pulling his head up and putting a healing potion to his mouth, letting the red liquid flow down his throat. He choked, snorting out some as he fought against her help, and then went still, letting the healing liquid sink through him. "Hold on..." He gave a cruel grin, laughing sadistically when she removed the healing potion.

"Poor, poor, pathetic Ketala would be the one who stayed behind. Always trying to do the right thing, she is. Do you like the blood bath I brought?" He looked around at the dead alliance and laughed. "All dead because of you. You could've hit me- I've seen you fight. You were better then any of them- as good as me. You could have killed me and they wouldn't be dead. And now your loyalties are so misplaced, you kneel at my side instead of theirs." He shuddered, laughing darkly. "Just as you seek to help Kel'Thuzad, not recognizing him for the monster he is." She quivered, tensing, hesitating but a spare moment. In that moment, he convulsed, eyes rolling back. Immediately, Ketala picked up the wounded Ranger Lord, pulling him off the ground.

"Don't die. Please don't die. There's someone who can help you." He shuddered in her arms, weak and helpless as Thrash knelt and she mounted without using her hands.

"The... hounds...?"

"Perfectly alright and waiting for you to come back when you're better."

* * *

The Argent Dawn disciples did not approach the dying undead ranger, just watching as Ketala tended for it, trying to keep his unnatural life-force going. He lay, bandaged and soaked in potions and salves, on a makeshift cot. Only the burning of his eyes gave testimony to the undeath within him, and any time he shut them, Ketala grew worried, for there was no way to distinguish him from a corpse. The crunch of gravel brought her from her thoughts, and she lifted her eyes to see two raptors running swiftly over a hill, heading straight for the chapel. She lowered her hand, gently shaking Nathanos awake. He groaned, his eyes opening, and he looked up to see a troll dismount, coming up and smiling at Ketala, waving. 

"Zul'vii!" Ketala hailed, and when she spoke, it was in Common. "Please, can you help me? He was taken down by an Alliance raid and all but killed-" Zul'vii never asked questions. Neither of the two angels could be certain whether or not she could help a pure undead like Nathanos... But neither had any other choice. The undead's eyes widened as he felt the massive slash in his belly seal over and mend, and he groaned, throwing his head backwards as his eyes rolled up. He felt Ketala pull his head up, cradling him, and he blinked back his pain and relief, staring up at her. Eyes met, hers blazing a soft yellow, and he shuddered, unable to look away. He pawed at her, struggling, and screamed, grabbing her by the neck and throwing her into the healer with all his strength. Both oofed, sorted themselves out, and stared at him and he clawed his way into his corner, shuddering with more then just pain.

"You think it is that easy?" he hissed out in agony. "You think you can pick and chose and just _change_ anyone who has taken a different path? Imbecile, WORM! Get _away_ from me, you pathetic, misaligned creature! You belong more with the likes of paladins then-"

"I am a paladin!"

"And now you save me, a slayer of them!" he spat at her.

"They're already saved." He blinked and burst out laughing.

"Oh? So it is my soul you are after, preacher? Pathetic attempt," he hissed out. Ketala sighed and pulled a muddy book from his pocket. His eyes widened and he screamed, lunging at her, kept back only by her armored hand. So she began to read aloud the tale of Nathanos Marris, his obituary, a beautiful, long litany, detailing his human fiancé and her grief. Nathanos Marris, the only Human Ranger Lord ever to be taken in and trained under the High Elves. A genius tactician, to whom the Alliance owed uncountable victories. But of his empathy, especially toward his animals, the obituary spoke of most highly. He shrieked the whole time, and was left only a moaning, unhappy wreck when she finished. From there, Ketala picked him up again, pushing him back into his cot, and he did not fight her, his dead bones rattling against each other as he shuddered.

"It's okay, Nathanos… Just rest…" He stared up at her with pained, burning eyes, as she turned him onto his back, placing her hand over the rotten gore in his stomach. "Zul'vii will heal you, and soon we'll get you back where you belong, with your hounds."

"They died in vain against me…" he said weakly.

"They did not die in vain if their deaths triggered some change." He stared at her. "Some change that came of their deaths… or of this situation, right here, right now." She took both his hands in hers.

"You cannot just take someone unwilling and change them. That violates free will."

"Who says you are happy as you are? That you do not want to change?"

"I do!"

"Your actions betray that opinion."

"And now you judge me."

"Yes. We all must judge. That is how we get through life. We must simply do our best to judge with an open mind."

"Be open to the chance that I might not want your help," he hissed, his words gaining strength again.

"Be open to the chance that you might want it. I would not have carried you from Marris Stead if I did not see something in you yearning for salvation," she countered, gently kissing his dagger-like skeletal finger tips and then sidling around him, holding both his wrists with one hand and his torso down with the other. Zul'vii came up again, pulling Ketala's makeshift bandages. Nathanos's eyes squeezed shut, barely accepting Ketala's words as truth. He screamed, trying to arch his back as the shocking, almost holy healing energy spilled into him. It was natural, powerful, and overwhelming, and it overtook his senses. Like the cool of ice upon a burn, it was at once soothing and horrible, right and wrong, and he kicked out, shaking and convulsing lightly as his wound knitted back together leaving his abdomen, along with all its contents, whole. He whimpered, damning his hellish savior with curses and threats.

He would never forgive this- could not forgive this. Till the day he died, he would never forgive for being forced to live… forced to care, forced to bare pain in its entirety. It did not matter that he bore pain even now- the silent pain of all that he had lost. Illidan claimed hatred for Zul'vii, but only because of her angelic blood and youthful demeanor. Nathanos claimed hatred for being burdened with another life, a life of burden and pain and disappointment. Unlike Lodan, or Jerod, or any Satyr under Zul'vii's care, Nathanos was tired.

He was ready to die… And he saw only torment in the future of this new life. He didn't want to feel. He didn't want to care. He didn't want to live. And though he would never enjoy defeat, he was ready for it.

The only thanks that Ketala Truae would ever get from the Ranger Lord, were silent ones, buried deep, deep within his twisted, sadistic soul- a joyful ecstasy for all he had regained.

Ketala pulled a blanket around him, the weight a comfort even though he had little heat to lose. "Just rest, Nathanos… Just rest…"

"You…" he gasped out through whimpers, "are… evil…" She flinched visibly

"You called me your equal, didn't you? Said I was as strong as you, didn't you?" he grunted, nodding weakly. "Then I thank you for the compliment. It is good to know it would take such a massive onslaught of elite warriors to take me down. I am confident I will survive most anything, now." She smiled weakly, sitting down beside him. He choking and laughed.

"Not if they find out you rescued me… And that I am here, helpless to defend myself. You will be hunted down to the ends of the earth… Especially because someone will find out your connection with the paladins." He gave an insane chuckle. "Betrayyyyerrr…" he taunted weakly. Her eyes made contact with his, still whirling that sickly yellow, and he almost convulsed again, looking away, no longer taunting. Slowly, slowly, he slipped into unconsciousness, and lay still.

* * *

Kel'Thuzad was silent, pacing back and forward, his dark blue eyes scanning the walls around him. Two years… two years and the only sign of Ketala was the fact that any Shade wandering into the Undercity or Stormwind was mysteriously torn from Arthas's sight? 

He was not so foolish as to believe that Ketala was hiding. Anub'Arak agreed. Since birth, Ketala had a fondness for fighting, and a will to prove herself. She would not sit by and watch the world pass. But what could Ketala be plotting? Kel'Thuzad knew. He knew from the moment his troops started performing better in any battle against demonic opponents. He knew from the moment he had the death knight chased down the river to his death. He knew from the moment Ketala first attacked him mentally. But Arthas did not share his concerns, and thus the possibility was wiped from Kel'Thuzad's mind. Still…

"Ketala…" he murmured. "Two years. Two years since you've shown your face…"

_Where are you, my little one? I know you aren't hiding. You would not crawl down some hole in Stormwind or Undericty and huddle there, waiting for the war to end… I know you. Ner'zhul, your _master_ knows you… _He felt no stirring presence, and he smirked in pleasure for the restraint of his former ward. _I found your trick out two years ago, and I will do it again. I merely need to find where you have left your mark… And more will be slaughtered due to your promises of 'salvation'. I have seen your power. I know how you root your mind into those near you. You are a parasite, feeding off of other minds around you, incapable of surviving without companionship._

Tears ran down Ketala's face as Illidan and Zul'vii watched the half-elemental cry. Seeing the far away look in her eyes, they knew it was connected with some event very far away.

_Do you think I do not see your signs? That if you make a mistake you can cover it up without leaving a trail? I know you are in the Plaguelands._

Her eyes widened.

_Haha… yes… yes… I know where you are…My higher minions floundering about in confusion as they are bombarded from holy energies from afar? All it would require would be for you to call them, to split their attention between yourself and I, working as hard as you please, as you would have only one target… You've been to Stormwind- I can tell. It's only logical that you, of all twisted beings would somehow root your way into the mind of a paladin and use him to destroy your helpless victims. Do you approach all conflict that way?_

Ketala shuddered, breathing hard, cold, undead tears continuing to fall from eyes that had never rotten and tear ducts that had never surrendered to death.

"Ketala-" murmured Zul'vii, but Illidan set a hand on her shoulder, silencing her.

_Ah, but where to place you… Where to place you… Here, perhaps?_ A lone ghoul howled from a hillside far away. _Mmm, no, no, no… Here? _A howl only Ketala heard mentally, far off in the Western Plaguelands. _No… no… Ahhh…_ Illidan, Ketala, Zul'vii, and all the Argent Dawn in the vicinity jumped as a ghoul howled from the roof of the chapel they had based their adventuring life around. _Yes… yes… Those pitiful worms who believe in banding against the Scourge and Demonic forces… Forsaken and Humans aligned together! Ah… What would they think of you to know… that you brought this end to their pitiful existence? _Ketala jumped up, looking down at Zul'vii and Illidan.

"We have to go. Now." Zul'vii blinked

"What? But why-"

"GET YOUR RAPTORS READY!" She whipped around, running up to several of the leaders. "Carlin!" Carlin Redpath turned to her, blinking in surprise.

"Wh-"

"Carlin, that ghoul is signaling an attack! Please- believe me! We must get out of here, a force is coming to great for us to handle!"

"Ketala, I don't know what you mean by that, but we can't just lea-"

"WE MUST! If you don't get everyone out of here in the next couple minutes, we are all going to die!" He stared at her hard for half of one of those precious minutes, and then turned around.

"Everyone! Round up your possessions as fast as you can! We're evacuating- Now!"


	18. War

(Hey, just repaired the last chapter, chapter 17. I found a lot of problems with Euquin's speech with Ander (I was originally going to make her go to Thel'Danis, so I accidentally called Ander an elf x.x) Anyway, if you couldn't understand something, please rescan the text so your confusion can be sated.)

And I remind you... **REVIEW OR I SHALL NOT UPDATE! YARG!**

I would also like to explain the difference I see between Holy specializing Priests and Paladins. In WarIII, Priests were primarily high elfin and were spawned from the ARCANE Sanctum. I thus have come to the conclusion that priest healing energies are holy energy and arcane combined together, the Arcane using the holy energy to produce the desired effect (Healing, buffing, attacking, etc). Therefore, and undead priest would have a far higher chance of being able to handle holy energy then an undead Paladin, who wields pure holy light. This is the reason Ketala is rare, but Holy specialized undead exist, and Jerod can go on with his life's passion.

(And if everyone's wondering why I put Nathanos in it, it's cause I saw him take down an entire Alliance raid with his uberness, and I fell in love :P)

Call outs? Is that what you call them? Well, here they are, whatever they are:

**Cybaster: **Yeah, I realized that halfway through Chapter 17 that the Scarlet Monestary was sometimes used as the generalization, but more often it was Scarlet Crusade. Sorry! I'll be alternating both just to make it look like I knew what I was doing : P And what does Ganbate mean?

**Koegh: **Glad to hear it! ( Kyn puts away the chisles and hammers ) Yeah, sorry about the abomination, but one of my friends was sodistraught that I killed her off when she looked to be a main charecter, I was suddenly hit withthe idea of how to make Keever(and my audiance)even more distraught!Yay!And that's weird,my friend isa boy and obsessed with wrestling and other insensitive mature themes O.o. I wear off on him yet! Euquin's story just isn't complete yet. She has to have an ending with a full resolution to it.

* * *

**The First Battle**

* * *

Marris Stead

The hounds growled, charging and snapping at the horses in the lead of the caravan. Nathanos's eyes moved to them, but he said nothing, hoping to cause as much hindrance and damage to Ketala's conscious as was possible. Again, he was outdone. Ketala kicked Thrash gently in the side, her mental command spurring him into a charge. The feline shoved its body between horse and the dog, and Ketala stared down at the rotting canines. They growled up at her for a moment, fidgeting and half circling her. Then, suddenly, one jumped up, yipping happily, its rotten tail wagging. Nathanos's eyes flashed wide as the dogs danced happily around the front of the caravan, their tongues lolling out of their mouths.

"Ketala, how far must we get today?" murmured Carlin, watching the dogs'strange reaction to the half-elemental.

"As far as you can."

"How far do you think they'll pursue us?" he asked, trusting in Ketala's knowledge of whatever foe chased them.

"To the Bulwark- and further if it does not hold." His eyes widened. "The Undead will not rest, and we have seen proof that they are all converging on us. Having to detour around the main road and Undercroft because of the undead assembled on the road is only the first sign."

"Then we have no hope. We must sleep- we will not make the Bulwark in one march." Ketala fell silent, looking down at the undead Ranger Lord in her arms.

"No… So I will stay here and hold them off." Zul'vii blinked, whirling her mount around and looking at her undead companion.

"But Ketala!" the troll protested.

"Miss Truae, you are the pride and joy of the Argent Dawn's fighting ranks! To lose you-"

"I can hold them off. And, with luck, I can survive." She pulled Carlin's horse up beside her mentally, and looked him directly in the eyes. "Trust me. I will give you the time you need to get your people to safety. It is me he is after. He will concentrate all his forces on me, and that will give you the time to reach the Bulwark. There are too many innocents, too many children with lost families for you to stay here. Now, go. Sleep only as you must." The Human looked into the eyes of the half-elemental for a long moment, trying to understand the bizarre scimitar-wielding warrior.

"… Come back alive," he insisted, turning back to the path and yelling for the march to continue, the caravan riding on. Ketala watched them go, and then turned her head to face the two raptors she knew would still be there. Illidan and Zul'vii both watched her with a similar expression. It would be fruitless to beg for them to leave. She needed to plan her defense.

"So, it begins?" asked Zul'vii softly.

"Yes," breathed Ketala. "All out war."

"We could wait, you know. Give him distraction, use only specific groups of undead. It would give you all the time you needed for the armies of the world to make their way here."

"If all the armies of the world were headed here, Kel'Thuzad would expect something and prepare. Now, however, he will be taken entirely unaware.

"I will stay with you," insisted Zul'vii. "Perhaps my strange abilities can aid yours."

"You have no experience with undead, so I fail to see what your healing will do. Still, maybe you can somehow keep the undead under my wing alive." She turned her eyes to Illidan.

"… I owe Zul'vii too much to let her die now," he retorted with irritation. Ketala eyed the pair and nodded.

"Alright. We're staying here."

"The ground is littered in bones. Won't that make it easier for enemy necromancers to fight us?"

"Not if Nathanos helps us."

"He's weakened and pissed off with us already."

"It would aid us tremendously, so we can only hope." She looked down at the Ranger Lord with a pleading expression. "Now, you have a mental connection with your seer, correct?" Zul'vii nodded. "Contact him and tell him to alert the DarkSpear tribes and have them moving on Orgrimmar."

"As you will."

"Illidan, you can conjure portals, correct?" He nodded. "Alert Tyrande and Vashj. Tell them what is happening." He nodded, jumping from his mount and starting to channel. Ketala closed her eyes, her mind flying over the landscape and reaching Varimathras.

_Varimathras,_ she implored the demon.

_Here._

_I strike the first blow in all out war. The Argent Dawn has abandoned Light's Hope Chapel and is heading for the Bulwark, and I stay behind to hold off Kel'Thuzad._

_You will turn his minions against him in battle?_

_Kel'Thuzad came to the realization that I was here. I have a feeling that he, himself, will leave his sheltering walls to ensure I am defeated and captured. I am ready to unveil my surprise._

_What would you have us do?_

_Prepare the Deathstalkers. Kel'Thuzad will attack headlong at the Bulwark _now,_ for the sheer pleasure of causing me pain- by bringing harm to the Argent Dawn. But he is not stupid. He will send an Arial assault directly on the Undercity sewers in an attempt to breech the way into the Undercity. I suspect they will have warlocks with them in order to summon particularly nasty things directly into the city. _

… _You know him well…_

_Yes. I will do nothing to turn my minions against the Scourge until he encounters me. It's me he wants, and he will focus most of his attention on me… He will rush right into our trap, and not have the time to pull out and avoid attacking me._

_And that is when you will turn the tables at the Bulwark and where you are._

_Yes._

_What about the Argent Dawn that are fleeing toward the Bulwark?_

_Make sure the way is open for them. If I hear you did something to kill them off, I'll have Sylvanis castrate you._

A laugh. _Of course, milady._

Now unto another leader...

_Jaina?_

_Who-?_

_It's Ketala. I know this is sudden… But I am striking at Kel'Thuzad in the Plaguelands._

_Now?_

_Yes._

… _You know you're going to need help, or they'll take out every ghoul under your wing._

_Better that I and those who have nothing to lose suffer then those who have so much to give._

_Tell me your location._

_Marris Stead, the farm up on a hill, former home of Nathanos Marris, the only Human Ranger Lord._

_That's a good description._

_I will have a mass teleport ready as quickly as I can. My armada will head toward Northrend to give you a distraction as soon as it can._

_I pray it happens in time. Please, Jaina, be ready to teleport away again. I would not want your people harmed on my account- this is my fight with Kel'Thuzad._

_So you brought friends- you're the smarter kid on the playground._

Ketala did not quite understand the reference, but it silenced her.

_I'll alert Thrall, _Jaina continued. _Kel'Thuzad's going to get a hell of a lot more then he bargained for, if we have anything to say about it._

Ketala nodded, reaching her mind out to a final contact.

_Gydrion?_

_Ketala?_

_Yes. It's time._

… _You're attacking the Scourge?_

_Yes._

_When?_

_Oh… soon. Today, possibly. Whenever Kel'Thuzad reaches me._

_He found you out?_

_In a manner of speaking. Have Stormwind ready to join unsavory allies- we will need Human aid soon._

_I had hoped for more time to convince them…_

_I have a connection to you. You can legitimately use the excuse that once Kel'Thuzad is done with the Undercity, he will jump at the opportunity of eradicating the Silver Hand from the surface of the earth- along with Stormwind._

_I'll do my best._

_Thank you._

Ketala sighed, breathing out and looking at Zul'vii. "Is your seer alerting them?"

"He's going right now."

"And Illidan?"

"Just left."

"Oh goody." Ketala turned her attention back to Nathanos.

"And you?"

"What makes you think I'd help you, especially after all you have forced me into against my will?" he growled out.

"Listen, Nathanos. If you ever want to get back against those who did this to you, if you ever want to repay Sylvanis or have even a gram of peaceful rest in death, you will do this now. If we fail here, we fail all the Undercity, and it crumbles. Your loyalty is to the Banshee Queen, your savior from mindless servitude- yes? Then prove it here!"

Nathanos said nothing, just watching her darkly. Ketala sighed, dropping from Thrash's back and carrying the wounded Ranger Lord up to the ruined house he had lingered at so long, gently laying him down with a single blanket at his only shield against the outside world. "Help me," she murmured. "Help me, not for my sake, but for the sake of defeating Ner'zhul." His eyes just watched her, silent, as she stood up and waited.

* * *

(Cont.)

War. War had begun. Illidan stepped through the portal, and Ketala watched as a massive Frostsaber Tiger followed him out. Tyrande Whisperind had come, herself, though for what reason was unclear to the undead. Behind her came Naga, Satyr, Trolls, And Night Elves. So many races that had hated each other for millennia after millennia. Now they all stood side by side, ready for battle. Zul'vii smiled as one of her bands of Satyr and Trolls came up, all greeting her and preparing to fight. But there were only a scant two hundred that came through that portal. That, on its own, was not a fighting force. If Jaina brought an equal amount, they would still not have anything near what Kel'Thuzad bore down on their position with.

Ketala would have to rely on her influence with the undead. She merely prayed that she had extended her reach far enough and engrained it deeply enough. If not, Kel'Thuzad had already won. Illidan's portal, however, remained open, and it became clear to Ketala that they would reinforce Tyrande with more troops as soon as they had them available. Runes coated the ground and began to shimmer, a mass teleportation spell occurring. Side by side, two more warring races, orcs and human, emerged grumbling from the teleportation spell and eyeing each other suspiciously. Jaina was there, of course, and by the way she was mounted on a huge, armor-plated warhorse, she didn't intend on leaving. She shouted out orders, having mostly brought spell casters with the understanding that Ketala's undead would be able to provide ample melee force. Spell casters, capable of hitting large groups of enemies with amazing force, would be the most useful fighters she could bring. Beside Jaina rode, of all people, Thrall himself. Ketala shook her head, noting that they had grouped almost every single being that worked for peace all together in the same tiny war band. They had better succeed in retaking the Plaguelands, or they were all going to die, and with them, peace would die as well.

"We are setting ourselves up for a massive failure," she murmured as Tyrande, Thrall, And Jaina all came up to her. "Do you realize that if we are trapped here, every sensible, unbiased official on this planet dies?"

"We figured we'd make you a more tempting target," said Jaina with a light grin. "And make sure Kel'Thuzad didn't pass you up."

"… Then let us fortify Illidan's portal, as it might be the only way we survive this." Tyrande nodded.

"It will also allow for a steady stream of reinforcements."

"I am curious, Tyrande. Why is it you came yourself?" asked Jaina politely.

"If we come, then Stormwind has no choice but to come. Humans and Dwarves are too prideful to be outdone by us, and they will come to the aid of the leader of their ally. They will not sit back and let us claim we fought for peace why they squabbled over petty differences in the background."

"Good point…"

"I have several of Miss Proudmoore's strike ships ready to launch a quick, painless attack on Northrend to irritate Arthas."

"I'm not sure that will do much…"

"It will make him overconfident if he sees that we are trying to make the most of a three ship distraction," Tyrande said proudly. Ketala nodded understandingly

"I understand. Leave the Theramore fleet to launch a more efficient distraction once the initial surprise is over and let Arthas panic then- not now when he can do something to cut his losses. Now we bolster his ego."

"Exactly."

"Illidan?" The demonhunter's ear pricked at the sound of his name and he came over to them. "Have Jaina portal your Naga down to the small lake below Corin's Crossing. Have them assault the city magically at the first sight of undead. I'm going to try and quickly push Kel'Thuzad's forces back through the entrance where they'll be hard packed. Trust me, it will help."

"Ketala?" questioned Jaina. "How are we to tell your undead from Kel'Thuzads?"

"There will be several differences. One- the eyes will glow with a gold aura like Forsaken eyes. Two-, They wont be charging at you attempting to eat your brains. Three – Some'll start swearing at you if you try to hit them."

"Yes. This is going to make magic hard." Ketala nodded, pondering for a moment.

"I have an idea. Hold on. Let me contact them." Her thoughts spread out, gently touching the countless hidden minds under her sheltering wing. "I can't count them easily, not unless I pull every single conscious out- and I'm not ready to risk Kel'Thuzad noticing all his ghouls suddenly have very interesting personalities. I'm going to try and shift them into groups and post 'leaders' if you will. These leaders will be the most mentally sound- those capable of speech. Each will be in charge of a group of undead, and will be able to, through me, distinguish and point out ally and foe."

"You can do this?" Tyrande asked, surprised. She had had only met and spoken with the undead female once, and did not know her well. What she understood of the half-elemental's powers were through Zul'vii's, Illidan's, and Jaina's words. It was only the reputation Illidan had given the undead female, and the knowledge that Jaina would find a way to come and help that had spurred Tyrande to this drastic action.

"I can try. We'll have to wait and see how successful I am."

"How long do you think it will take him to find us?" Zul'vii questioned.

"Not long. But I am hoping he assaults the Bulwark first."

"Why?"

"All part of the plan. All part of the build up before the fall." She felt the undead massing. The undead along the road were holding still, browsing around. Soon, they would be carried the sent of the living flesh, the sent of the living beings so close to the road they trod on. Her eyes closed, praying hard that Kel'Thuzad would strike first…

_We are ready, _Varimathras murmured after long moments.

_Do you see any of Kel'Thuzad's forces?_

_Nothing. Nor do I scent them. I do believe he is coming after you with every force the Plaguelands have to offer._ Ketala swallowed hard, hoping she had not made a mistake in her calculation of Kel'Thuzad's moves.

_Do not leave the Bulwark. You couldn't make it even If you set out after me right now._

_Yes… Of course, miss Ketala. If Sylvanis desires it._

_Tell her if she doesn't stay at the Bulwark, I'll castrate you without her permission._

…… _She says she is amused by your threat, _he grit out with irritation, _and will listen to your advice._

More time passed… More time… more time… more-

_TO BATTLE!_ screamed Sylvanis's Majordomo mentally. She felt Kel'Thuzad using his final trick, his bait. He would lure her out of hiding by striking that which meant something to her, and she would willingly play into his hands… only to show him it was she who held the upper card. Ghouls and Argent Dawn clashed, fighting tooth and nail.

_Kel'Thuzad, I'm not afraid of you! You couldn't possibly muster an army out of that mindless trash you call warriors, not with all your fighters at Bulwark! Coward- you hide in your precious trash hole! Come out and face me! _she taunted.

Kel'Thuzad's response was instant. From the road came ghouls and banshees and litchlings, all cresting the hill. Abominations came up, gargoyles flying in the sky, and a destroyer or two visible in the distance.

_Wrong move, _her Guardian said with a laugh. And with that, his horde charged forward, bearing down on the defenders of Marris Stead.

"Hold your fire," she shouted, lifting a hand. Despite the fact that she lead none of these troops, they all listened, intently waiting for her signal. Kel'Thuzad, from where he commanded his troops, blinked, his minions communicating Ketala's words, and feeling the pathetic distraction hit Northrend from the side. Why would she-? TRAP!

_Ditto, _Ketala countered with grim satisfaction. His lines of warriors were just at the point where the first long-range units were getting ready to fire… And then, suddenly, the ranks of undead collapsed on one another. Ghouls with insanely increased skill ripped through their mindless counterparts. Banshees turned, possessing the most powerful and elite warriors they could find. At the Bulwark the lines of the undead suddenly slammed back unto each other. As predicted, the gargoyles headed down the sewers only to begin ripping each other apart. Those warlocks that reached the bottom were slaughtered by the ready guard.

"FIRE! FIRE AT THE NECROMANCERS!" Ketala screamed. There was no hesitation as bolts of magic ripped through the lines of necromancers. On his back, Nathanos shuddered, staring in awe at what Ketala had accomplished. He convulsed once and then the bones below them shuddered, clambering to their feet and rushing forward to join the fray. But most horrifying of all to the Scourge, its leaders were found to be corrupted with Ketala's taint. Any that had known the least bit of goodness in life and now were slain turned onto their comrades and ripped their wills from the Litch King, along with their minions. Ketala shuddered, dropping to her knees, fighting to yank away the Litch King's precious heroes and still to direct every single fledgling mind under her command. Pain assaulted her from all sides as Ner'zhul allowed his minions to attack anything that fought them- effectively targeting her own undead forces. She felt pain, and injury, and death, an endless see of minds pleading for her aid. Every single abomination turned, their meaty fists and blunt cleavers hacking into any mind not linked empathetically to Ketala.

* * *

Somewhere in the skies between Marris Stead and Corin's Crossing

Kel'Thuzad surveyed the situation, watching ghouls rise up and call on any former memories Ketala had restored to them. Mages shot forward frost and fire. Warriors fought with power and skill that their mindless counterparts could never possess. Priests shot forward their half arcane, half holy energy to rend apart their counterparts with ease. A few that had formerly been paladins risked calling down holy light, though several felled themselves in the attempt. He watched the massive FrostWyrms around him swoop down and begin to blast away his own minions. Gargoyles ripped apart the last of the undead dragons that still belonged to his command and they and many of the destroyers flocked into highly organized lines to protect the dragons under Ketala's wing. Riding on Sapphiron, he shook his head, marveling at the ability of his adopted 'daughter'. He could feel Ner'zhul's rage and loss, fury at having lost such an amazing power and fury at what was being done to his legions. He was confused and overwhelmed, and had but one option- cut his losses. There was no way he was going to do any damage.

_It doesn't matter…_ Kel'Thuzad murmured with some awe. _She will simply overtake the minds of the undead you control, sooner or later. Withdrawing will ensure her victory, just as fighting will ensure her victory. We cannot sense the presence of her mind, nor can we fight it. _For that, he was assaulted so powerfully mentally by Arthas, he threw back his head and screamed, his aura turning a pasty gray for a moment. _I know what she wants my master… _Arthas paused, listening. _She wants… … me… She is too softhearted… She fights to free me, oblivious to the fact that I do not care for her. _Kel'Thuzad's eyes widened as he saw his own bodyguard turn on him, flying their mounts up to his. Sapphiron himself bucked wildly, and Kel'Thuzad was torn from his back by the arms of the massive skeletons he thought could not possibly fall from his power. He had never sensed her… Not once… in any of their minds. But now the skeletons leered down at him with real, glowing life in them. Gold spilled from their hollow sockets, the burning light testimony to the mind within.

He was not prepared for what happened next. Nets suddenly engulfed them, bringing the Frost Dragon mount, its bodyguard rider, and Kel'Thuzad to the ground with a hard thud. The Dragon screamed, shaking its head, as Anub'Arak and several Nerubians pulled Kel'Thuzad free. It was not the rescue he had hoped for, and he felt Anub'Arak's mind reach out across the battlefield, picking Kel'Thuzad up with one hand and holding him powerfully, almost crushingly.

_Ketala, _the massive Crypt Lord hissed. _My Master has a bargain to make with you._

_What could he possibly give me? _she returned.

_Kel'Thuzad's life. _The Litch's eyes opened wide, and he stared at Anub'Arak. He turned his head, looking over one of his tusks, and watched Arthas's loyal Death Knights fight against a wall of Ketala's minions and a line of her… litches… behind them.

Litches were purely undead. Though in life they had been mostly necromancers, any one of them that had ever had the tiniest flake of human morals or emotions throughout life, any that had died with the briefest notion of what love was, now fought valiantly against the master they had so long served with power-mad loyalty.

_Master, you know my loyalty-_

_Loyatly is irrelevant, _returned Anub'Arak. _If there is even slight doubt as to your will to serve, you are expendable. And now you may fetch a high price, Litch. Wait and see._

_You are undead too, _he returned with malice. _I am no more susceptible then you are. What could you possibly bargain for-_

_What does Arthas want in return? _Ketala asked.

_You, _Anub'Arak hissed triumphantly.

* * *

Marris Stead

Ketala's eyes widened. "Me…?" she whispered, staring out over the collapsing horde of Scourge, trying to find her beloved Guardian in all the mess. Behind her, she could feel Jaina teleporting in a mass of Paladins. Ketala's lines opened to let them charge through, the mounted warriors throwing holy light down upon the enemy swarm. Ghouls pointed out to slightly disgusted spellcasters proper targets, and a rain of fire, ice, and heavenly light brought down another Death Knight.

_Me?_ she repeated, eyes wide.

_You, Ketala. The perfect weapon. Every mind of every being on this planet would be yours to nurture, and Kel'Thuzad will live, if you but swear your obedience and loyalty to the Litch King. _Her mind reeled as she pondered what she was hearing, trying to understand the offer and all its repercussions… But all she heard was its merits. Every mind would be hers, not Arthas's. Arthas would direct her, but every mind could be developed… alive…

_Enslaved,_ murmured a familiar mind into hers, an abomination with a will barley its own. Euquin, the only one of her kind never to fall entirely to mindless obedience. A roar of minds echoed hers. From Jerod and Lodan, from every ghoul, gargoyle, banshee and destroyer at the Bulwark. Echoes came from before her, from the lines of Litches, all which were taking pleading glances back at her.

_I could… leave you all to your free will… I could kill myself in his service… _The roar turned into an explosion. She felt several ghouls abandon their positions by their spell casters, all swarming around her, whining, pleading. Several litches turned fully around; a dragon landed nearby, nuzzling hard against her almost knocking her over.

_Don't leave us!_ the minds screamed in near unison. Anub'Arak went still as he heard every single minion under Ketala's wing shriek out in whatever limited noise they could.

* * *

Somewhere between Marris Stead and Corin's Crossing

_No,_ came the fierce reply on his mind. _No, I will not be yours. _Anub'Arak nodded, looking down at Kel'Thuzad.

"You trained her too well," he almost laughed. Kel'Thuzad snorted.

"Set me down." Anub'Arak eyed Kel'Thuzad silently a moment…

"Your failure cost us this. Your failure. You are the one who released Ketala from servitude to the Litch King." Kel'Thuzad screamed as he was ripped from the Litch King's will. Endless mental abuse poured down upon the litch as Anub'Arak dropped him, slowly using an armored foot to start snapping his bones apart. One by one, bones broke. Vertebrae by vertebrae, rib by rib… Snap… Crunch… Snap…

_Ketala, another bargain there. His life for you to pull out- to stop fighting this war, to stop taking our troops._

Ketala pondered on this one. She looked back at Nathanos, and then gazed up at Zul'vii, the half troll working hard to heal the undead in the lines before her, her strange aura working even on the decrepit, rotting abominations.

_No, _she said simply. _How bout another bargain. Kel'Thuzad's life… for yours?_ Anub'Arak snorted, and continued damaging the writhing, agonized litch at his feet.

_Did my best to save you, _Ketala said simply. Euquin jumped from her place hiding on a tree, her hooked limbs latching into Anub'Arak's thickly carapace back. He snorted, swiveling his torso around to claw at her… only to find she had crawled underneath him, hugging against his underbelly, her claws tightening against his powerful carapace. _Before you die, I would like to thank you. Your training made me one of the most skilled swordsmen in the world. I believe I must have been a quick student, but such skill can only be learned from a proficient master. Your tactical mind and Kel'Thuzad's allowed me to plan this entire defense in the space of hours. Without your teaching, I certainly would have perished long ago, and would be inept at orchestrating the tactics of ghouls and other undead that do not yet have much consciousness to guide them. _

Anub'Arak squealed as he felt blades plunge into his underbelly, quickly spreading his legs and dropping to crush the unfortunate being below him. She was too fast for him. One side of her hooks had not been ingrained as far in his carapace as he had thought, and they slipped free, swinging her out on the ground next to his prone abdomen. He tried to rise as she hamstrung him, severing the muscle structure in the upper portions of his back legs. Around him, nerubians fought to save their master, only to be hit by bolts of frost from litches and held in place. Their long-range attacked tore at the Abomination's flesh, but she was designed to take far more punishment then they could offer.

After rendering Anub'Arak's legs all useless, she turned the Crypt Lord onto his side, using him as a wall again the nerubians. Ghouls made it to her side through the weakening lines of Death Knights, taking out the rest of the spider monstrosities. Beatles burst from the ground below them to defend their master, carrion bugs surging around the abomination, but she turned,fleeing into the tide of Ketala's minions, and was gone, leaving Anub'Arak prone and ready for death whenever the lines of his warriors fell. He devoted his mind entirely to thetactics of his lesser minions.

* * *

Marris Stead

An abomination bellowed from behind them, some of the undead making it through Ketala's lines of troops where there were no litches to slow and deter them. The enemy abomination's cleavers thudded down, ghouls bursting out from behind it to tear at the defenseless spell casters. Necromancers summoned skeletons from the ground, Warlocks staring to summon in every nasty thing they could think of. Ketala shuddered, pulling out her scimitars and standing, charging toward the undead and ripping ruthlessly through them, her blades glowing with holy energy. So exhausting. She felt her grip on some of the litches starting to fade…

* * *

The Bulwark

At the Bulwark, Varimathras growled, calling down an infernal with the last of his mana, being careful to stay at Sylvanis's side. His claws grabbed a ghoul, hurling it away from them as Sylvanis proceeded to charm, mana drain, and shoot everything in her path. "We're losing, milady. We don't have enough spellcasters. Ketala's troops will hold us stalemated until their necromancers are done recharging mana. The paladins that portalled from Hillsbrad to help aren't enough." Sylvanis grunted, and then put a hand on Varimathras's arm, staring ahead at something. "What-" he fell silent, his cold blue eyes going wide as a sliver of gold ripped open in the air above them. It grew, expanding, and then solidified into something that shot fear deep, deep into the demon's core. Few things could strike such fear into the soul of a demon. Few things could make him shudder and cower as he now did. Few things could cause his infernal to burst into a shower of writhing black smoke at the power of its mere presence. This was a being he feared more then the Nathreziem, more then Archemond himself, a force that even the Dragon Aspects respected.

Four illustrious gold wings spread out, two from in front of the arms and two from behind. A shock of brown hair spilled down between the shoulders, a magnificent robe of twining silver and white wrapped around the being's body frame.

"Mahi…" Varimathras breathed out, watching the beautiful angelic being take shape. Her wings spread out far, not even beating to keep her hovering, and a burst of light fell from the heavens, shooting forward and ripping a track through the lines of Scourge. An aura fell upon Ketala's minions and the defenders at the Bulwark, feeding strength and stamina into them. Below her materialized her champion, her companion. Two years had changed Keever as well. Green and brown full plate disguised his race, leaving only an armored warrior. Clutched in both hands, he wielded a crystalline spear. The angel began chanting, blessing the defenders around her, as her companion's spear blazed with energy. The tip blazed, tearing through the undead monstrosities around them and ripping energy, stamina, mana, and life from them.

As the Scourge finally recovered, charging forward at the angelic being, he brought the tip hard into the ground below him. The energy gathered from the Scourge shot from the tip, a shockwave spreading across the ground and forcing the Scourge back. The rest he used to strengthen himself, fighting against the enemies around him with speed that shamed the weight of his armor. The battle continued, vines bursting from the ground as the two entities strengthened the vegetation, twining it around the undead and pulling them apart. Warriors on their last bit of mana, or stricken and in agony found themselves renewed and strengthened, rushing forward to defend their angelic savior. Sylvanis pulled Varimathras along despite the fact that he pleaded, straining against her, trying to get away from the apparition. It took the better part of ten minutes to coax him into fighting again, and even then he still stole glances at the horrible, brilliant being above them.

* * *

Marris Stead

Zul'vii grabbed Ketala around the middle, dragging the swordsman away from the battle despite her protests and struggling. There she held the undead being, feeling Ketala slowly calm as the healer soothed her exhaustion and worry. At last, when the undead was still, Zul'vii let go of her, letting her stand on her own too feet. The undead and troll lifted their eyes to see Illidan hurling gouts of fire and other forms of spell-craft into the enemy swarms, keeping them away from the two angels. Immediately, Ketala and Zul'vii joined him, their six blades pushing the forces back as Ketala's mind fought for more ground, thrusting away Arthas's control of banshees and letting the undead elf maidens run wild. More often then not, they turned around and aided Ketala for their freedom.

Her mind spread out, trying to find more easy targets, and she suddenly grinned. From the forest, the decaying and half undead animals charged. Wolves and bears mauled brutally into the undead, willing to give their meaningless, suffering lives to aid the angel that called them. Spiders spurt web into the sky, bringing down enemy gargoyles and destroyers. And, best of all, came the rats. First came one… Then came four, then sixteen, then forty-nine, then hundreds, then thousands. Rats swarmed the undead, biting at flesh, filling whole ghouls and pulling them apart from the inside out. Carrion grubs pulled undead to the ground and digested their remains. Roaches and ants, all the animals that survived Scourge control due to the overwhelming carrion pulled apart their enemies.

Behind them, what was left of Arthas's minions was fighting to get the Death Knights out, sending the mounted warriors back. With that head start, the back of Arthas's army began to retreat. If Ner'zhul continued to fight, he would lose everything in this battle. His only option was to retreat and pray for some way to shield his minions from Ketala's influence. Outland, perhaps, or some other distant world. At his Throne in Northrend, he surrounded himself only with those not entirely dead- with Death Knights, Necromancers, and Warlocks, and he began his search for a way out.

Ketala grunted, struggling to her feet and sighing out. A cheer came from all those of sentient mind, and Ketala blinked, looking around in surprise at all the troops that had somehow found a way to the defense of Marris Stead. There were Orcish Shaman, Human Wizards, Paladins side by side with Troll Shadow Hunters and Night Elf Druids. Even some of the mighty Tauran, a race that Ketala had only but glimpsed before, stood side-by-side Dwarves, both armed with massive rifles. At three feet high, Ketala swore she saw a few Gnome rogues. She moved uncertainly, unbalanced and almost fainting. Warm arms caught her, and she shuddered, looking up to see Gydrion, the paladin smiling fondly down at her.

"Well done, little Ketala," he murmured. "Well done." Zul'vii grinned over at her, looking just as tired, and gave the 'thumbs up' sign. Illidan just yawned, standing on one foot and drawing the other one up against him, stretching his arms out, getting the kinks out of his muscles. Then he dropped into his normal stance, strapping both his blades to his hip and coming over to them.

"The enemy troops will be pushed past Kel'Thuzad and Anub'Arak soon. What would you have us do with them?"

"I'll deal with them," Ketala insisted. "But meanwhile, we have to give chase to the army and push it through Corin's Crossing. The Naga will be waiting there, and we can take out the DeathKnights in the front. If we chase them, they wont bother trying to detour the town. As for the Western Plagulands, Illidan, can you conjure a portal to the Bulwark?"

"I could," he grunted, "but I'm short on mana." She nodded. "I will see if there are any spell casters left undrained for me channel mana from. If not, we will just have to let them fight alone." He turned, walking off to ask around, terminating the portal to Darnassus. Zul'vii smiled, gently patting Ketala on the shoulder.

"You'll feel better in a bit. You're just overwhelmed, that's all."

"Yes," said Gydrion with a smirk. "When we saw the ghouls start to rip apart from the inside, bloating up with rats, we just stared for a moment in disgust and awe."

"Disgust…"

"And awe," he repeated. "Your abilities are… far more amazing then I could have possibly thought." He gently pushed her up to her feet. The spell casters, having loaded themselves up with the last of their mana potions, could do no more, and they were staying in a tightly knit- group around the portal. Ketala stood unsteadily for a moment, and then groaned, moving forward and coming up next to a dead destroyer.

There, crushed beneath the winged monstrosity, was one of Nathanos's hounds, whimpering. It looked up at her as she knelt, gently cupping its face, and then it went still, all life leaving its eyes. Slowly, she pushed the pieces of the destroyer off of it, letting one by one fall to the ground. Gydrion came up by her side and helped her, and at last she fried the crushed, dead animal. Picking up the rotten beast, she carried its corpse back over to the house, which was currently covered, especially the roof, with spell casters, all having taken a higher position to stay out of harms way. Nathanos, miraculously, was unharmed, still lying where she'd set him. His eyes watched her as she carried the hound up, setting the animal gently down beside him. He regarded the crushed beast. Too damage. Too destroyed. Slowly, weak from strain, he moved a hand and set it on the hound's side, the fingers sinking through its patched green fur.

"I'm sorry, Nathanos," she said sincerely, gazing down at the beast. He said nothing, not moving his gaze. It was the habit of some undead to breathe, despite the fact that they needed very little oxygen. Though before, Nathanos had always been still and silent, he breathed now, his chest rising and falling shallowly. Perhaps it was the closest he could come to grieving. Nathanos was not pretty, either. His nose was sunken, the flesh missing from his nose to chin with only smooth, gray bone and muscle beneath. His flesh-less lips twisted into a cruel grin, and he looked up at Ketala.

"For Sylvanis…" he hissed. "Or… for Ketala? Whom do you fight for? The world, or your own desires?" She smirked lightly, gently stroking over the side of his hood.

"Glad you made it, too," she said gently.

"Go find your beloved parent as he rots in agony on the battlefield." She shuddered, nodding. With a gentle pat on the hand that rested in the hound's fur, she cast her senses over the rest of the battlefield. A howl answered her, the second of the great green beasts coming up. It was missing an eye, but its mouth was in fine condition and it was still alive. Then, having done all she could for the Ranger Lord, she drew both her scimitars once more, and moved out onto the battlefield. Anub'Arak was still as the waves of Ketala's undead washed over them. His impale ability ripped through several ghouls, but in the end he was helpless.

* * *

Somewhere between Marris Stead and Corin's Crossing

The undead did not give spirited chase to the Scourge, instead forming a gargantuan circle around Marris Stead, strengthening and spreading out their lines. He was still motionless as Ketala at last made her way to them, staring down at the massive Crypt Lord. Her eyes lowered to the crushed Litch in front of her, his eyes flaming with agony as he twitched and writhed. Slowly, she knelt, carefully touching his broken ribcage to see the extent of the damage. He shrieked, jerking hard. She lifted her eyes to Anub'Arak, and the closed her eyes, breathing in slowly.

_Zul'vii?_ she murmured. _I need your help. A ghoul will lead you to me. _

By the time the half troll made it there, led by a light-gray ghoul, there were already several abominations and ghouls there, roping together a prison wagon made of wood from Darrowshire a destroyed town in the south. Zul'vii came up beside Ketala, kneeling down and looking at the tortured form prone before her. The great Kel'Thuzad, second only to Ner'zhul, so helpless and tormented… Gently, the half-trolled laid her hands upon the ribs, picking up the shattered pieces and pushing them back together, restoring the fibers that bound them together. Kel'Thuzad, like all others subjected to Zul'vii's strange power, convulsed, screaming out at the conflicting agony and utter relief. Ketala gently took one of his tusks, steering his head so he was looking at her, her mind gently slipping into his.

_Here… here… Cling to me. I will free you from your pain._

_You- You are the reason that this happened!_

_No, you are, for setting me free. Do not blame me for the fact that you did the right thing._

He screamed, heaving, ice energy blossoming around his hands, despite the fact that his arms were crushed and cracked, his shoulder blades shoved from their moorings. He gasped, shaking and convulsing lightly as she quietly took his hands, smothering the magic and taking but a tiny hit of cold damage. He snarled, throwing his head back and worming, trying to get away from them… but then pain overwhelmed him and he fell limp, the dark blue of his flaming eyes fading lightly. Ketala swallowed dryly, and reached forward, gently touching his skeletal forehead, a few tears making it from her normally dry ducts.

Kel'Thuzad's mind spun, sinking into a horrid mesh of pain and torment. He could only vaguely feel his body, but he had no desire to hold onto that feeling- every single fiber burned with even more suffering.

_Come back, little mage… We miss you… _A familiar voice… Familiar words… _We remember you… We miss you…Come back, little mage…_

_Why?_

_Come back, little mage. For Ketala._

_Ketala means nothing. She is a weapon, and the source of the pain I am now in! The pain I bear a second time._

_Then why was it that hearing she was not dead from me… in the throes of your last torture at Arthas's hands… that you were so filled with relief… sadness… and love…?_

_SHE IS NOTHING!_

_I told you to make sure you were not dead when she came looking for you…_

_Why?_

_She loves you. Survive. Come back…_

He convulsed, slipping deeper into madness and pain.

_Love means nothing._

_Love will save you. You will not survive if you do not give in to it._

_I want to die._

_If you wanted to die, you would be dead already._

_I want only to return to my master!_

_You cannot do that if you are dead. Betray Ketala if you must, betray her to Arthas if you must, but her love for you will allow you to continue growing in power. _He shuddered, reaching out and grabbing onto the faint, faint feeling of his body. He pulled the pain onto him, willing it in, screaming verbally out his pain.

_I'm here… I'm here…_

_Ketala…_

_Let me in… I can save you…_

… _Ketala… _His mind burned as he felt her intruding presence, but he opened to her touch, feeling her aura and influence wrap around his mind. The pain muffled, as if there were thick leather between his mental presence and the oncoming blows. Zul'vii's healing energy made him toss and writhe, but the presence in his mind calmed him, soothed him. Like cool water when everything was aflame, her presence washed in, healing, soothing, and gentle. It filled every crevice, saturated ever fiber, and kept the flaming agony away. His sight returned to him, and he watched the putrid sky overhead through the blotchy colored patches that were his vision. _Ketala…_

_I'm here… I'm here…_

Zu'vii finished her healing job and helped the abominations pull Anub'Arak into the prison cart. The massive, carapace being caused the old timbers to groan lightly, but they held the unresisting behemoth. Like Kel'Thuzad, Anub'Arak knew survival depended on Ketala's good humor. Had she attempted to kill him, he would have fought tooth and nail. But now he had time… He merely needed to stand up against Ketala's mental control.

"Zul'vii," Ketala murmured, Thrash and Zul'vii's raptor mount coming up beside her "Get mounted on your raptor and rest… We have to make the push to Corin's Crossing, and that might requires us moving from Marris Stead."

"You're exhausted, Ketala."

"Arthas's forces are in full retreat. We just need to make them run their arses off and not take any detours." Zul'vii sighed, nodding, and then mounted, leaning against her raptor's neck. Ketala scooped up Kel'Thuzad's limp form, gracelessly mounted her feline, and turned, heading back toward the Stead. Her mind pulled off the fastest off the troops and sent them surging forward, racing at the Scourge's heels, and her body brought her back to Nathanos. She looked tiredly down at the Ranger Lord, and then slowly, slowly smiled.

"For both, Nathanos. I fight for the world and for myself. And, so far, I've won." She lowered her head, touching her cheek to Kel'Thuzad's. The litch's blue, flaming eyes turned to her, but he did not move or speak.

* * *

Whoa, doesn't that leave alot of questions to be answered? First, how did Keever get so buff? I mean, he moved up 3 armor classes there! Long way from cloth-wearing apothecary (Not even a spell caster!) to a plate-wearing warrior expertly weilding a spear. Second, who's going to die! Oh come on, their livescan't be perfect, someone's got to die. Third, what the heck are we gonna do with the poor Night Elf Abomination? Fourth-Sixth: Kel'Thuzad, Anub'Arak, Nathanos? And why did the undead puppy have to go? Tears in eyes How is Arthas gonna stick around long enough that the few fanboys who like him wont accuse me of playing him as a pushover! Oh come on, it's only the first battle, it can't be over yet. And what are we going to doabout the Scarlet Monestary? 

O.o... Annnnyyywayyy


	19. FourthLegOfTheJournies Begginings

**Review or I shall not update! YARG!**

Sorry it took me so long to post guys, I had major writer's block .. I guess that's what happens after a climatic event- you're not sure how to continue onward. Anyhoo, i finally did update.

Note to all you poor people out there, this chapter doesn't really resolve anything! It's horrible! how could i do this too you? Lol. It basically starts a whole bunch of story threads to be taken care of in the following chapters. There are also alot of anonymous people that you just have to guess the identity of in this chapter.

This chapter is also EXTREMELY patchy. That's intentional bordering on unintentional. It's supposed to convey the passage of time, the hectic, random rate at which things are happening, and the sense that you're not getting the whole story. Sorry if it upsets you, but I had no other way to keep the story moving X.x The middle of a story stinks!

Note: I'm going to try and include various people from the Warcraft World into this tale without giving you a million main charecters that you don't know. Oops... too late...

Here's our charecter list:

Ketala - Trua, Angel of Compassion, half elemental undead, paladin  
Zul'vii - Curiato, Angel of Healing, half troll half elf  
MahiMahi - Angel of Strength  
Keever - Former Apothecary, sometimes refers to self in 3rd person, Mahi's companion  
Thrasher - Ketala's massive lynx, related to the Nightsabers  
Kel'Thzuad - Undead litch, second to Arthas  
Anub'Arak - Undead Nerubian King, third to Arthas  
Sylvanis Windrunner - Banshee Queen of the Undercity  
Varimathras - Demonic majordomo under Sylvanis  
Nathanos Blightcaller - Sylvanis's Champion, the Former Ranger Lord Nathanos Marris, the one and only Undead Hunter  
Gydrion - Paladin who trained Ketala and acted as a substitute father figure  
Uther - Cool dead paladin.  
Euquin - Undead Abomination, Half Night Elf, Half Human  
Zul'jin - Zul'vii's father. Troll, leader of the Forest Trolls. Most cunning leader in known history. Deceased  
Myev - Zul'vii's Mother. Elf Angel. Sent by some Demigod to save Zul'jin. Deceased  
Jerod - Undead Ghoul who almost fully recuperated under Ketala's care. Friend to Lodan and Euquin.  
Lodan - Former Death Knight and Paladin who gave up both to become a warrior under Ketala  
Tyrande Whisperwind - Night Elf High Priestess  
Malfurion Stormrage - Illidan's brother. Archdruid of the Night Elves.  
Illidan Stormrage - Furion's brother. Sorcerer and Demonhunter. Befriended Zul'vii  
Arthas/Ner'zhul - Booooooooo! You stink!  
Jaina Proudmoore - Human ruler of Theramore Isle. Sorcerer. Born to a sea faring nation. Currently possesses one of the best navys, if not the best in the world  
Thrall - Son of Durotan, Orc Warchief of the Horde. Shaman. Weilds the Doomhammer (Ogrim Doomhammer's old weapon). Has a cool wolf  
Mag - Zul'vii's seer  
Vol'jin - Zul'vii's cousin. Mostly Island Troll. Ruler of the Darkspear tribe. Sadly, 'Pinkspear' was already taken.  
Sen'jin - (Not really a main charecter, but he was Vol'jin's father and Zul'jin's half brother.)  
Cairne Bloodhoof - Leader of the Tauran  
THE UNICORN - Self explanitory  
Eldiaren - The first ghoul Ketala befriended. Deceased.  
Ander - The Paladin in charge of teaching the art of combat in Stormwind.  
High Priest Thel'danis - guards Uther's Tomb  
Therian Firewalker - Blood Elf That befriends Ketala when she saves his life from abominations.  
Kadre - lead Argent Dawn for awhile. Gave Varimathras the impression he had been replaced.  
Locke - The leader of the human war party that found Ketala and brought her back to Stormwind  
Othen - the Paladin that at first distrusted Ketala, but after seeing her ability to touch holy light brought her before Ander, Gydrion, and the other elder to see if she were worthy of accepting aid from Stormwind.

Hmm, is that everyone? Tell me if you find someone I missed! I love you all:)

**Review or I shall not update! YARG!**

* * *

**Fourth Leg of the Journey. A Bunch of Little Begginings.**

* * *

Corrin's Crossing

The Death Knights began their mad dash through Corrin's Crossing. It had been a small town, and now it was a small ruin. They road through with the single-minded purpose of returning to their master… And they did not notice the Naga lying in wait from them. As soon as the majority of the Knights were in the city, Cyclones burst those before and behind the city up into the air. Blizzards and parasites, and other unfortunate magics rained down on the knights.

Massive Naga myrmidons moved to block the path of the poisoned and harassed knights, blocking their exit and forcing them to fight. Death coils plowed through aquatic flesh, taking down many of the massive Naga. Still, the troops kept coming. A Death Knight went down, Murlocs bursting from his body to attack his enemies. The animals in the area came forward to further the assault, as the Naga forces pulled down horse after horse, knight after knight. In the end, only half of the knights made it through, and some of them fell to gargoyles chasing them by means of the open sky. The first battle had been fought and won.

The mortal races of Azeroth had been victorious.

* * *

Bulwark

All were silent, gathered around the Mahi. She had landed on the ground, her magnificent wings half spread, and she was gazing down at all the people gathered around her. The eyes of the army looked up at her in awe, all gathered in a circle around her and staring at her. Her eyes looked at each individual person, lingering especially long on the Deathstalkers that gazed up at her in wonder. Mailed fingers reached forward, gently touching the tips of her wings just to assure their owners that she was real- that she, Mahi, really did exist.

The angel did not speak, but turned, eventually, and took the shoulder of her companion, gently pushing the magnificent warrior out to the crowd. Those closest too him backed up a bit, staring in surprise as the knight, donned in full plate, looked at all of them in surprise. He was not amazingly tall, only around six feet in height, and the Mahi was only a bit taller then Varimathras or Sylvanis, but both divine companions seemed far mightier. MahiMahi's companion looked around for a long moment, one of his hands gripping his spear tightly. Then, slowly, he lifted his other hand to his helmet, pulling the magnificent piece of armor off.

Keever's face was almost the beautiful, moon white that Ketala's complexion had always held. His maroon hair had been groomed, and the ugly locks had turned a more pleasant, reddish hue. His one good eye glowed brilliant gold and green, the light spilling out as if it were physical. Though his lower jaw was still missing, the throat has sealed over. Some of the paladins and Argent Dawn members pulled back in surprise and shock at seeing an undead beneath the angelic armor- an undead with only one good eye and no lower jaw, to boot.

"Mahi is her name," he murmured, and his voice had none of the trademark hiss or rattle normally found in most undead speech. "Know that it is your unity that brought her here. In the face of an enemy of all life, orc and human and undead banded together. It is your unity that made you strong… and your unity that called her. She asks that you remember what brought you together today… when conflict-or peace- is again on the horizon. Fighting with one another will only weaken you."

* * *

Ketala waited silently, the litch nestled in her arms. She lifted her eyes when the portal finally opened, a large, shimmering, violet thing. Illidan nodded to himself, stepping through. After a moment, he reached his hand back through to their side and beckoned for them to come. Ketala sighed, reaching down and offering a hand to Nathanos. He eyed her a moment, and then gripped her hand, letting her pull him up. He grunted weakly, and then whistled to his hound, heading toward the portal. Ketala followed. 

Keever turned his head as the portal opened, looking directly at it. Mahi, too, shifted her eyes, and the army at the Bulwark watched as the world of races poured from the violet surface. The two armies merged together, seeking out friends or those belonging to a similar race or alliance. Sylvanis grunted from where she was, glaring at Varimathras for his cowardly display, and then turning to come up to the portal. She was quickly greeted by Tyrande, Jaina, and Thrall, with Zul'vii and Ketala riding behind them. And in Ketala's arms…

"You…" Sylvanis hissed, lifting her bow. Instantaneously, two mammoth abominations shoved their bodies between her and Ketala, bellowing furiously. Ghouls swarmed around them, a litch preparing a frost nova. Sylvanis's brows lifted in surprise, and she lowered the tip of the arrow. Ketala blinked, looking at the wall that had manifested between her and the Banshee Queen. She sighed out, smiling lightly. The beings guarding her shifted at her command, and Ketala looked down at Sylvanis.

"You gave me license over what to do with Kel'Thuzad. And, now that I have him, I find myself reluctant to give him up to the twisting nether just yet," she said simply. She turned her head and gestured to Anub'Arak. "But I brought you a present- the Nerubian lord who trained me in fighting and the being who acted as bodyguard and guide to Arthas on his way to IceCrown. And Nathanos, whom was nearly killed in an Alliance raid." Sylvanis eyed Ketala darkly a long moment.

"If he causes any more grief, it will be on your head, half elemental," she hissed.

* * *

Flashback - The Day War Began

Thunder Bluff

The small equine being lifted its head. It shivered lightly, weak but warm, and looked up into the eyes of the gentle bovine beast above it. It whinnied softly, asking for food, and it was sated with a cloth soaked in warm, rich milk. The creature had almost left life… but it had persevered, recovering. The unicorn's long horn lowered, resting against Cairne's chest, cradled in the elder Tauran's arms. It gurgled softly, its brilliant green eyes closing, and it slept…

* * *

Flashback - The Day War Began

One Dream

_The Dream… So long… So long… Could I remember… how…? Where was life? The Dream… The Patron would not be able to help… Deep… Too deep. The Dream… So long… So long… dangerous. Where was the exit? Where was life? Life was all around. Life was Dream. No… No… My life… where is my life? My life is here… Who am I? Where is the way out? The Dream… So long… So long… Convulse… Struggle… Live… Breathe… _

_Help…_

* * *

Another Dream - Present

_Killl the angell… Kill Kill her_

_Kill her Murdeerrrrr_

_End angel Kill the angel Kill… _

_End… the angel_

_Kill… the angel her_

_Kill the angel._

_But the angel will defeat Arthas…_

_Not Curiato. Curiato is expendable. Kill her. She is my enemy, and for her death you will be redeemed. You will have the power you so long for…_

_And the Freedom…_

_Finish…_

_Kill…_

* * *

He gasped hard, sitting bolt upright and gripping the ground tightly with his long, clawed fingers. His powerful shoulders quivered lightly, his skin and hair damp with sweat. Bad dream? He shifted lightly, trying to remember where he was. He released the ground with one hand, and turned, looking down at the familiar, blazing white aura beside him. Three years… For three years, he saw that aura almost instantly upon waking, and almost every moment of the day. 

Slowly, he leaned back, relaxing and pushing out his last bits of discomfort over the forgotten dream. His blind eyes moved to the unseen tent roof above him. He was at the Bulwark, camped out with plenty of other exhausted spellcasters and paladins. All of the people camped here had turned the tide against Arthas, and they were the best magic and light wielders that the races had to offer.

Idly, Illidan wondered why he had not yet come up with some sort of scheme to lure in some more servants using his ability to fuel their magical powers. Maybe he just didn't care enough.

The suggestion was becoming more appealing, though… He turned his head, looking at the aura behind him. After a moment, he looked down at himself and he breathed in sharply. The satyr, the trolls, the naga, the blood elves, Kael… They all had part of Zul'vii's taint within them from frequent contact with her, and in all of them it had brightened and strengthened them. But inside him, it saturated every fibre. He could trace out his own veins and heart by the tendrils of the brightest white. He leaned his head back, trying to decide what to think about this. Manipulation…? Gift…? He faded backwards into the dream…

Manipulation…?

_Kill…_

* * *

Kel'Thuzad

Ketala could be found in a tent not far away from Illidan's. It was heaped with blankets and pillows- anything in reasonable condition that all her many ghouls could find. Thrasher was currently 'tenderizing' the blankets under his paws in the manner that cats generally do with any soft surface, and keeping a careful eye on the litch half buried in the nest, thoroughly wrapped in the arms of the lynx's sleeping master. He had not made any threatening moves, but, then again, he was far too weak to accomplish anything threatening. Neither had he spoken or moved. He lay still. He lay silent.

* * *

Hills Around the Bulwark

Jaina sat on her warhorse, rubbing her rear end indignantly. "You do realize you can go off and rest," said the wolf mounted orc at her side.

"Wouldn't be befitting of a leader to take a beauty nap when they're not particularly tired. You actually _fought_, and you're still up."

"Of course, but then I do happen to _be_ a fighter."

"Then I'm a battlemage." He laughed.

"The undead guards have defense managed here. Go to sleep."

"Ditto, Warchief." He grinned, looking at her. "I can hold my own with an orc. You want me to sleep, you go to bed first," she said proudly. Thrall chuckled.

"You did well, even if you did not do much fighting. We would not have been able to so collapse the ranks of the Scourge without all the help you managed to bring."

"And you did well in battle. Your lightning ripped through the lines of necromancers." He nodded lightly. Then, slowly, he turned his wolf.

"Come Miss Proudmoore, off to bed." He grinned, heading for his tent, catching her whipping around to stare at him. She blinked twice, laughed, and then nodded in defeat heading for her own tent.

* * *

The Next Morning- The Bulwark

Zul'vii awoke to the sight of Illidan pulling on some of the heavy furred cloathing more suited for the far north. If Illidan didn't want to be entirely reliant on his runes and mana to keep him warm, he was going somewhere _cold_ and doing something _difficult. _Which meant Illidan was on some other scheme to do something _stupid._ Nevertheless, Zul'vii yawned, sitting up, and looked at him sleepily.

"Ice fishing?"

"Returning to Northrend."

"I see. What's the occasion?"

"Retrieving my blades."

"Ah. So, we're going to Northrend, which will be in heavily defended paranoid chaos, blowing up everything that moves… sneaking up the base of Arthas's Throne… Spending precious time boring your blades out of the ice… and plucking two of the most powerful artifacts in the world from right under Ner'Zhul's nose."

"Who said anything about 'we'?"

"Come now, Illidan. Since when do we not follow one another?"

"Since now, perhaps?" he mused, lacing up a boot he would be loathed to wear without absolute necessity.

"I will come with you."

"You would come… but you _will_ not."

"Oh? Why?"

"It will be easier for me to teleport in and out without being noticed then it would be for both of us to go."

"And you won't get the stupid notion to take on Arthas while you're there, eh?"

"I might. That, however, is not your problem." He stood up, pulling on a heavily furred cloak and pulling the hood down over his face.

"Oh? Then what do I tell Tyrande if you don't come back?" He paused, pondering a moment. "That you died in another foolish bid for power?" He whirled and stalked up toward her, gripping her under the chin, at the neck, and thrusting her into the wall behind her. He said nothing for a long, long moment, and then, finally, delivered an answer.

"You won't say anything, good or ill of me."

"That's the first time you've dictated my actions. Why do you think I will obey?"

"You will tell _no one_ where I am or what I went there for. If I do not come back, let me die with that decency. The blades can be used as a well of energy, just like a demon can. They will only aid Arthas while they are in Northrend."

"So, no one knows where you are and you seem just to have abandoned everyone and everything?"

"If someone must loosen your tongue, it was an attempt to end the conflict with the Scourge quickly in one fell sweep."

"By assassinating Arthas." He smiled darkly, and then released her throat. He stood up straight, turned, and walked off. "Illidan?" He kept walking for a moment, thought better of it, and paused, turning his head back toward her. "If you don't come back, I might be tempted." He sneered lightly and continued walking.

* * *

The Hills Around the Bulwark

Keever perched silently on a hill, looking at all he and Mahi had created to turn the Scourge. Huge, massive trees sprouted up, towering up as large as Kalimdor's trees, the branches scraping the roof of the world. Vines spiraled around, roots burst up in various locations, and water was collecting.

Fluid leaked from the various roots, decomposing the undead that lay there and purifying the tainted earth below. Mahi reached over with a hand, gently touching his shoulder. He looked up at her, seeing her pleased smile, and he relaxed, sitting down and enjoying the sunrise. She lifted her head again, looking out at the forest.

_This place needs a name now,_ she remarked. He looked at her, silent a moment.

"Don't ask me. I am not good with names."

_So many places where horrible events have occurred… Infectis scar… Plaguewood… Terrordale… Let us pick a pleasing name for this place where a turning event has occurred… hopefully, this will be the mark of the war turning in our favor. Even now, Ketala's undead fortify what of the Plaguelands Arthas has abandoned.Though it will take her much time to recover, and in that time Arthas may find a way to keep her mind from the Scourge,the Lich Kinghas lost so much..._

"There are plenty of good words. Honor, Valor, Hope, Light…"

_This should be unique. This is not some resolute bastion, it is a place where healing has occurred. _Keever was silent as the sun broke over the horizon, spilling out onto the landscape. The new forest in front of them was alive with life, suddenly. The grass around the tree's roots seemed thicker and healthier, even if some of it was bound to die from all the shade the trees provided, and everything was a blazing green.

"Green. Many good words for green. Emerald, for one."

_Unique… Unique…_

"Viridian?"

_Viridian means green… It is a good, unique word…_

"Viridian…" He watched some of the grass become healthier, lines of life and strength reaching out from the forest, climbing out and renewing, before pausing to collect and replenish. Then, later, it would reach out again. "Spreading Life… Reaching Life… Reaching a goal… Viridian Reach." Mahi nodded, smiling more.

_Viridian Reach. That will be the name of this place._

* * *

In the Midst of the Bulwark

Zul'vii was busy that day. Ketala was unconscious, her mind spinning around aimlessly, like a lost puppy trying to find out exactly which direction was up. Zul'vii, however, was fine. As it was healthy to keep her mind off of worrying for her Night Elfin comrade, and she was, for the first time in three years, lonely, Zul'vii set to healing. Some of the defenders, especially those at the Bulwark, were severely wounded. After these were stabilized, there were the animals.

Before Zul'vii could even think about the undead defenders, she had to set to the animals. Destroyed by the infested land, half undead, and rotting while still somewhat alive, they were all suffering. Though they remained off to the side of the camp in huge, upset, sick masses, disturbing the spell casters, they were unapproachable. Zul'vii, thus, had to project her healing from afar and soothe the animals into complete docile relaxation. From there, she could finish sealing their bodies.

Though she could, by no means, help out the entire animal mass, a great deal of the wounded creatures retired to the Viridian Reach, whole and alive, that day. And the next day, more would follow.

* * *

"By all means, take the other armies first. They need to report all that has gone on here and make way for new alliances." Jaina nodded at Tyrande, looking over at Thrall.

"Good morning miss Jaina. My men have a low priority as well. While we all long to be back at our homeland and watching over it, we can wait till whenever you return your own troops to Theramore." Again, the sorceress nodded.

"This would be easier with Illidan. Has anyone seen him today?"

"Illidan is off on another half baked idea," said Zul'vii, coming up to the group. "And he told me not to tell where unless he doesn't come back and people plead with me enough."

"Strange, I don't believe I've ever seen you apart," Jaina said, surprised.

"Yes, I know, I feel so unloved. Illidan's a loner by nature, and rash. So, because of those facts,we do not have a portal maker at the moment. We could ask Mahi." All three entities blinked, staring at her.

"Speak with… an angel… about something like that?" Jaina finally managed out. "It seems a bit… ungrateful. After all, she did help save the Bulwark." Zul'vii fell silent and stared at her.

"You haven't even talked to her, have you? Out of respect?" Zul'vii giggled. "Oh come now! She doesn't bite! She's actually quite friendly." Tyrande winced, and nodded.

"The half troll is right… as 'ungrateful' as it might seem, the MahiMahi would be willing to help." Jaina and Thrall both looked at Tyrande.

"You know about her?" Jaina asked. Tyrande nodded.

"Our race is one of the only ones that retains knowledge of the MahiMahi. We have long memories due to our long life spans. They are playful, actually, despite being the most powerful avatars of good. And they are friendly. She would be quite willing to help transport the armies." The three leaders looked uncomfortably at one another. Then Jaina nodded.

"Will you talk to her, then, Tyrande?" The High Priestess blinked and then nodded, breathing in slowly as she turned her mount going toward the hill that Mahi and her companion had stationed themselves on. Zul'vii watched Tyrande go and then shook her head, taking Jaina by the arm.

"C'mon. You too, Warchief." Jaina blinked, protesting and practically digging her heels into the ground to keep from being drug to the angel. They reached MahiMahi just in time to see Tyrande distracted by an overhead owl, waiting for the magical creature to come down, and Zul'vii grinned, shoving Jaina in front of the Mahi.The sorceressblinked, staring, as MahiMahi shifted her gaze to look down at the small Human. The winged being tilted her head to the side and smiled.

_Hello…_

"…Greetings," the sorceress said after a moment. Mahi smiled more, looking up at the mounted orc.

_Salutations._

He nodded his head in response, slowly dismounting. She shifted her eyes to the wolf, and her smile turned to a grin. Energy rippled through her as her form changed, twisting into a large brown wolf. She howled, charging forward and pouncing on Thrash's mount, both dogs rolling around and yipping happily, nipping at each other's tails. Both leaders, of orc and of human, stared in awe, watching the angelic being romp around like a newborn puppy. The moment was short lived. Tyrande, the owl's message finally received, reached over and grabbed Jaina's arm.

"Sorceress! It is urgent- I need to be teleported back to my people- now!" The following minutes were a mad rush to assemble a group of Night Elves big enough to make Jaina's mass teleport worth while. MahiMahi paused, watching the commotion, and then she and her wolf companion came up to Thrall, sitting beside him, and both earned a scratch behind the ears.

The day after that was calmer. There was more healing… There was more teleporting… There was more talking, and sleeping, and tentative approaches to the Mahi. More time… more healing…

More recovery…

* * *

Several Days Later - Bulwark

Ketala'sshifted ever-so-slowly.She breathed in deep, smelling warm fur… And she opened her eyes, smiling up at Thrash and reaching up an arm, to wrap said appendage around his neck and him. He meowed, licking her hair gently, his rough, pink tongue rubbing over her forehead in a quick flick. She sighed, happy, relaxing for a long, long moment. Only the cold feeling at her one side made her finally look down at that which she had tried so hard to save. Kel'Thuzad was, of course, awake. He had no need for sleep, and he looked silently up at her.

"You really, really insulted my intelligence by thinking that my taunt was real." The blue eyes flamed lightly.

"You guessed every move. The attack on the Undercity through the sewers… the assault on the Bulwark… How?"

"You should have taken into account you were fighting someone who's mind was bound to yours for their entire youth. And you trained me well- I know what to expect and plan for, especially against you."

"Anub'Arak?"

"In Sylvanis's company now."

"How?"

She blinked, not understanding.

"How? How did you infiltrate so many minds in such short time? You had no connection with those undead…"

"I didn't need connection. You taught me how to speak mentally, remember? Again, most of what I am, I learned from you."

"You certainly did not gain my motives."

"I said _most, _not _all._" She was silent a long moment, and then wrapped her arms around his slender ribcage, hugging him tightly. He did not move; he could not move. The litch did the only thing he could do- he held still, cradled tenderly in the arms of the only being who could forgive him.

_Come back to us… come back to us little mage… We miss you…_

* * *

The Real Healing - Bulwark

The Abomination required Ketala's recuperation before she could muster the will to go forward. With Ketala's mind nestled safely beside her own, Euquin finally crawled down to Zul'vii to ask for healing. Needless to say, she was not disappointed.

Jerod, called from the Undercity during the Scourge attack on the Bulwark, blinked as a Nightelfin female came up to him. He was holding some mana potions to bring to Ketala and Zul'vii, the substance of which strengthened the two tired angels, but something about the female made him pause in his errands and stare. She had that confused look, the look of someone who did not know their own name or identity, and she walked looking up and around with the bewilderment of a mentally challenged being.The elfmight have been naked, but for the cloak that was wrapped tightly around her. She stumbled forward and Jerod blinked, dropping the thick-glassed mana potions to the ground with soft thuds. He caught her in his arms, staring down at the face he knew so well… And he gaped, exposing his ghoulish maws.

"Lodan! LODANNN! HELP ME!" He called as he looped the Nightelf up into her arms, dashing back to where he'd just left the redeemed death knight.

* * *

That Day - The Day War Began

The day the Unicorn awoke safe in Cairne's arms… the day it first drank milk… The day that the Viridian Reach was created; as a million minds reentered life through Ketala… The day the Scourge was repulsed and the putrid land shrank away from life and strength… The day life poured forward like a fountain into the undead and healed them… The day that the angel appeared in the sky, and life poured from her and strengthened them… _That _day… was the day that the Dream began to release her sleeper…

The Druid convulsed powerfully, his whole body shaking and twitching. His skin was pale, sweat beaded on his brow, and he was evidently sick with some internal struggle. All around him, life cried out in anguish for him. It reached out, calling out to the druids who sought to investigate their distress… It reached out, calling to the animals, who sent about trying to communicate their distress… The animals told the druids… The druids told the sentinels… The sentinels told their owls… and the mystical, flying beings sought out their Priestess…

That was how, several days later, High Priestess Tyrande Whisperwind found herself in the Stormrage Barrow Dens, clutching the arm of her beloved. He still shook and trembled- even more now then when he had first begun his tremors- but it was the first indication he had given of life since he had stepped into the Emerald Dream. No one before him had ever stayed within Ysera's realm so long, and every druid had begun to whisper lament behind the Priestess's back, wondering how to tell her that it was likely her beloved was lost, doomed to forever wander the Emrald Dream, no longer recalling who he was.

But this… this was a sign… Though the Archdruid was evidently in extreme pain and conflict, he showed signs of connection with his body. To the druids and to Tyrande, this bode well.

It meant there was the scant possibility that their Shando would survive, and that the Archdruid was, even now, attempting to reenter his body.

But oh, how his efforts wracked him with pain and exhaustion. The deep vibrant purple of his skin was pale- almost as white as Illidan's violet-white pallor. Life pooled into the world. The suffering and death of the animals a continent away were eased. The life spilled out from the Viridian Reach…

And Nature regained her grasp on her failing world.

* * *

Northrend

_There are solutions…_

_Tell me them!_

_Her mind can only corrupt the minds of our minions if they are exposed to her over time. An easy solution is to simply 'kill' our ghouls and bring them back to life only when they are needed for fighting._

_It would take too much power._

_Then we need simply find a means of storing power. I and my peers have been working on it._

_Show me!_

_There. As you see, it can store our necromantic energies, each one enough to animate one undead._

_A further implementation of this could be to store the artifacts inside the undead. The artifacts could be attuned to give and take back life to the undead at our whim, so that they are animated only when _we_ will them._

_They could launch a sustained attack against us. That would give her enough time to infiltrate their minds._

_We are working on a way to keep the souls isolated and away from the body._

_What about the Gargoyles and Destroyers? They are not truly undead- we cannot dispel them. Many of them deserted, just like many of the ghouls did._

_We are working on that problem._

_And the Abominations?_

_Simply remove all traces of a mind. The will of fighting will fall more and more unto us, but the Abominations are easily taken over by Ketala. The only way to subdue the abominations is by making them brainless meat shields. Without a mind, and without a complete soul, Ketala will have no way to infiltrate them._

_The Banshees?_

_Better enchantments to place upon them are being researched._

_And the Litches and Shades?_

_We were most disturbed by their loss. After all, they were sentient, and as much your servants as we are. We believe the problem with them lies with what of them was still human. The punishment you bestowed on Kel'Thuzad for his weakness furthered the damage to his bonds with humanity, but it is a possibility that this did not destroy them._

_And your solution?_

_Use flawed soul stones to hold onto the souls of the undead. Let them project their influence through the flaws onto their bodies and direct their forms from far away. Ketala will not be able to infiltrate the stones without time and practice, and she will also not be able to locate them in the first place._

_So the only things we are not sure about are the gargoyles and destroyers…_

_Yes. We would suggest purging your ranks of them, but we need the air support._

_Take all those that survive the assault on the Western Plaguelands and kill them. Bring their remains to me._

_Yes, my master._

* * *

Western Plaguelands

A scream of pain and betrayal swept across the land, influencing two minds the most. The gargoyles, all together, had been lured to the ground, and they waited patiently, heedless of their fate. The corpses of meat grinders flew through the air, landing with a crash amongst them. Countless were wiped out instantaneously, and the others either listened to their masters and held still, or took off in panic in confusion. Those who remained loyal were killed instantly. The others…

_Higher. Higher. _

They went up, up above the range of the ground units. Several were taken down with infernals. Blizzards crashed down on some. Bolts of shadowy energy pierced the cloud layer.

_Higher. Higher. _The great Frost Wyrms could not take on the smaller, agile beings, and did not follow the small, tiny ensemble that had survived.

_Safe. Safe. West. Go West. You will find me there…_

The rest were returned to IceCrown in pieces.

* * *

**Review or I shall not update! YARG! **

Dang it, we didn't get any of those questions answered. Onward!


	20. A Life for a Life The Cost of Passion

Hey everyone! I'm so sorry i haven't updated in awhile! It wasn't your fault- you were good reviewers! But we had a college tour week, so I had a whole week with no access to my computer files. Dreadful, I know. Please continue to review!

Oh, by the way, I've just discovered that a question mark (?) and an exclamation mark (!) cannot be made in this program- kinda like repeated blank spaces, or any special keys above the numbers on your keyboard (Such as the karot key, the number key, the dollar sign, the asterix, etc.) SO! IF you see an exclamation or question mark that looks slightly out of place, it is simply because the two end charecters could not be made together. Stupid Fanfiction.

**Thank you! **That is, thank you to all you people who reviewed! You made me a very happy child:) I am sorry I could not please you with faster updates.

* * *

Ack, but I have confused some of my readers! While that is good in some situations, I didn't particularly mean for the last chapter to be confusing! Bad author, bad (Thwaps Self) 

Alright, now that that's over with, I'll give you a **walk through of the last chapter**.

The tale begins with a segment titled _Corrin's Crossing_. This picks up a few hours after the last chapter left off. The Naga and undead are trying to force the Deathknights to run through Corrin's Crossing and pick a ton of them off on the way, and they do.

_The Bulwark_ is occurring as the same time as "Corring's Crossing," and in it, the Mahi talks to the Argent Dawn, paladins, Undercity people who are all gathered at the Bulwark. The segment is insinuating that they had just won and driven the Scourge back, as victory at the Bulwark is never outright stated.

_Next, untitled segment_ occurs directly after that, and involves everyone in the Eastern Plaguelands portalling back to the Bulwark to join everyone else.

Then we get two _Flashbacks. _These flashbacks occurred earlier, at the time of the actual fighting. The first one is the unicorn child that Jaina and Thrall found waking up in Thunder Bluff, being held by Cairne Bloodhoof. The second is a bit more sneaky, but if you read the chapter through and understand it, you might come to the realization that the second flashback is Malfurion Stormrage. At the same time all the fighting was going on, he's trying to wake up from his hibernation in the Emerald dream (If we remember, he'd been out of connection with his body and disappeared so that not even the green dragons could find him- and it's their realm.)

Then we have a _Dream. _From here, everything starts going in chronological order again. The dream is, of course, Illidan's. It's only affecting his subconscious, so when he wakes up in the Next untitled segment, he doesn't remember it. In it, someone, or something is trying to drive him insane so he'll kill Curiato. If you aren't familiar with the angelic names, Trua is Ketala and Curiato is Zul'vii.

_In the Next, untitled Segment, _Illidan just wakes up and does a little reflection. Remember, he's blind, he only sees auras. That's why he refers to Zul'vii as a white aura he's seen every day for the last three years.

_Kel'Thuzad_ just lets you know what the lich has been doing all this time. He's being smothered by Ketala and being a good little prisoner.

_Hills around the Bulwark _just lets you know what Jaina and Thrall have been doing – being the responsible leaders they are, even when they could be taking a break. Also hints at the companionship developing between the two leaders (and their mounts! How the heck did a wolf and a horse get along?)

_The next morning- Bulwark _is a bit more straightforward. Illidan hops up in the morning and either he's power hungry, being spurred on by subconscious dreams, or something else, but he decides to go get his two prized demonhunter blades, the Blades of Azzinoth, from Northrend (You know, where Arthas/Ner'zhul lives).

_The hills around the Bulwark _entails Keever and Mahi having a chat. If you're wondering where that nifty forest came from, read back to how Keever and Mahi were fighting. They did mention using plants that burst from the ground to entangle or kill their enemy. The forest, which they name Viridian Reach in this segment, was the result.

_In the Midst of the Bulwark _Zul'vii's healing.

_In the next, unnamed section, _they send Tyrande to talk with the Mahi about helping them teleport everyone home to wherever they belong, but Tyrande gets distracted by one of those sentinel owls. You know, green, see through, glow a bit, generally used for scouting. While Jaina and Thrall are introduced to the Mahi (And the Mahi even transforms into a wolf to play around), Tyrande finds out some urgent news carried by the owl, and asks to be teleported home immediately. GASP! What do you think it could be? (Well, silly, she just found out Malfurion's trying to wake up! Wouldn't you be a bit urgent if it were your beloved?)

_Several Days Later – The Bulwark _hits back to how Ketala and Kel'Thuzad are doing. Yay! Ketala finally woke up! She's a bit sleepy though, you'd think she could think of some more interesting, dramatic things to say.

_In The Real Healing – Bulwark, _we answer one of those questions. This tiny segment is about the Night Elf Abomination Euquin going to Zul'vii for healing. The Night Elf, whole and bewildered, that Jerod finds wandering around (Jerod, the recovered ghoul priest, remember him? Euquin's 'friend'?) IS Euquin. He's so surprised he calls Lodan (Fallen Paladin/Deathknight turned warrior) to help him and to see this miraculous thing- Euquin's healed! No more gores, no more extra limbs. .. We finally half answered one of our questions!)

_That Day- The day that war began _Ahhh! We're out of chronological order again! Okay, this shoots back to the flashbacks, Malfurion's dream, all the scourge fighting, and the unicorn waking up. Now we find out a bit more about who was having that mysterious dream. We discover that it's the Archdruid, the Shando, Tyrande's lover. I call him about everything but by his name. In this segment, we skip ahead to when Tyrande got there and sat by his side, pleading silently with him to be alright.

_Northrend_ Yes. You remember where Northrend is. It's where Arthas/Ner'zhull lived. So who could the two people talking about how to keep undead from Ketala be? You've got it! Arthas and some random necromancer we don't care about! Hehe

_The Western Plaguelands _is basically just a segment about how the ghouls were slaughtered. Its there for no reason other then to show how Ketala and her sheltering wing are a refuge, godsend, and sanctuary, and how even when she's exhausted and can't think straight she's still working to help those around her.

The End :)

Hopefully this chapter will be less demanding of mental prowess; that is, in the regard of following section switches.

**Review or I shall not update! YARG!**

* * *

**A Life for a Life, The Price of Passion**

* * *

Camp at the Bulwark

Jerod and Lodan hovered over the bed, both talking in hushed murmurs. They watched the form below them, occasionally touching where her wounds used to be in astonishment, just to assure themselves that the horrible gores were gone. The form, the female night elf, stirred at one such gentle brush, and they whispered one another into silence, staring down at her. She shifted, groaning lightly and opening her eyes. The beautiful, silvery eyes gazed up at them in bewilderment, and Jerod smiled gently past his slightly malformed jaws. She smiled back lightly and then continued just looking at them in black, expressionless confusion.

"Euquin?" the priest asked gently, kneeling beside the bed. She tilted her head to the side at a ridiculous angle, her brows slowly moving together in concentration and thought. After a long, long moment, she smiled.

"Euquin…" she murmured.

"Euquin, your name," he said gently. She smiled, apparently understanding.

"Mine. Euquin." He nodded and slowly took her hand, touching it to his chest.

"Jerod."

"Jerod," she repeated. "Priest." His face brightened, and he nodded. "L…llodan…" The warrior and priest nodded in unison. Her face brightened as well, and then her brows moved together in concentration again. She pulled her hand from Jerod and touched her face and her head where the massive gore was. Her brows furrowed, and she touched along her back and sides, feeling for the extra appendages- only to find none. She felt her own, whole arms; her own, whole torso; and her own, whole legs; sitting up lightly to do so.

"… … Whole…" Jerod nodded, gently stroking her hair. "Zul'vii…"

"Zul'vii healed you. You should be able to think much easier, especially if you get some time to rest and recover."

"But dead…" He bit his lip, and sighed.

"Yes, you are undead. And so am I." He took one of her hands and gently drew it to his cheek, to where the flesh was marred and the skeletal, ghoulish teeth poked through. She flinched, drawing her hand back an inch. Her face wrinkled with sorrow, her other hand clenching. Then, slowly, gently, she touched his cheek again.

"Not whole," she said, evidently upset.

"I am inside, and I am up here," he said, tapping his temple. Euquin was silent a moment.

"Then Euquin not whole."

"Not yet, but you will be." He smiled gently at her, kissing her hand. "I promise you." She was silent a moment, and then nodded, letting him hug her. "You'll be fine, Euquin."

"Ketala?" she asked suddenly, perking up with worry.

"Ketala is fine. She needs sleep." Euquin nodded again, and then fell silent. "And you need to rest too, rest to think." She nodded, letting him lay her back down and wrap a blanket around her again.

"Jerod and Lodan stay?"

"I have to go out and run errands and heal, but Lodan will stay." Euquin nodded, looking up at them both so trustingly, her pale violet hands clutching the rim of her blanket at the level over her jaw in a childish fashion. Jerod smiled, gently patting her on the head, and he turned, standing up and walking out. He took several steps- Euquin saw them. One… Two… Three… A pause as he opened the tent flap. One…

RIP.

A thick bolt of holy light rended through the air, as a priest cast _smite._ Jerod cried out, gasping and stumbling backwards, clutching the bloody tear through his robes and chest. Though it was not as affective against the living, Jerod was by far the older, wiser, more powerful spellcaster. He called forward an explosion of holy flame, setting his assailant a-fire. His world dimmed as Lodan caught him, wrapping an arm over the gore and holding the priest's long-dead fluids in.

"Jerod. Jerod, listen. You must heal yourself." The priest shuddered, twitching in shock and surprise. Why would someone attack _him?_ Why someone so insignificant? Why…? The sounds of battle reached his ears as the attackers were found out. The defenders, who were caught unprepared, wereburdened with the time it took to pull on armor or ready spells. The undead, fortunately, were not so lacking. By the time this attackhad come around,strategy and tactics had passed around through their weakened minds. Those most in control of their will commanded the units they had watched over in the last battle. The entire mass of undead turned on an instant… to face an entire mass of Scarlet Crusade waiting for them. Holy bolts rained down, holy fire and light blossoming everywhere. In panic, in pure, unadulterated terror, Ketala sent her minions fleeing. The thought of so many dying…

_Run! Run!_ She called to those that would stay back and defend her. _You cannot fight them!_ Her terror caught and commanded them, urging them forward. They fled from one side of the camp to the other, the liches hurling ice magics behind them to keep the Scarlet Crusade occupied but following so that they did not stop to raid the tents. The led the maddened paladins and priests in a circle around the camp, to where Zul'vii sat among the sickened animals and soothed their pains. An abomination reached forward, grabbing the half troll and picking her up. Zul'vii yelped, staring as Ketala seized the minds of the animals as well and made them run. They ran; they all ran. They moved as quickly as their bodies would allow.

"She's panicking," Zul'vii whispered out. _Ketala! Ketala- CALM DOWN!_ She felt the terrified mind. Every thought of Ketala's was focused on how to keep those she cared for from dying. This is what she was afraid of. Of death… of suffering… _They cannot run forever, even if they are undead! Ketala, you must calm down, the Scarlet Crusade must be STOPPED!_ Holy bolts were starting to lick the feet of an army, and a ghoul went down, crying out its savior's name as it was buried in blades and holy light. The heartrending, almost banshee-like, wail that tore from Ketala's mind was heartrending to the half troll, and too all those joined with her mind. Ketala was too tired, too worn down to take this. If she caused any more deaths- if the Scarlet Crusade killed any more, it would literally tear apart her mind at the seams, and leave all her sanity to seep out through the holes. And Zul'vii wasn't holding out much better. If one of the animals were to fall behind… Oh, she did not think she could take seeing the death of a being she had cared for!

Which meant that both angels were entirely helpless to stop the rush of hatred that was chasing them toward Viridian Reach. Both were too exhausted to fight.

So the third got in the way. Mahi's eyes flamed dangerously, her almond wings bursting into golden, ethereal things, floating in a nonexistent breeze. Her hair changed, turning to bright, golden blonde, her eyes blazing gold and her face turning a pure white with bronze undertones. Her robes changed as well, turning white and gold and sculpting into thick, full plate armor, a long, white sword materializing in her hand. With a flash of light, she was gone. With another, she stood between the Scarlet Crusade and the Viridian reach, letting the undead wash past her. The charging armada of humans almost screeched to a halt, staring at her, many of them with their lips parted or jaws dropped.

_Leave… This Place…_ came the commanding, holy voice. _Those here have done far more for the Light then you ever will… _more jaws dropped, some of the paladins and priests looking uncomfortable. _They have fought and turned back the waves of Scourge. They have done more then you can claim._

"They ARE the waves of Scourge!" One man screamed out, the muscles in his jaw working furiously, anger apparent in his eyes.

_Not any more. And if they were, you could not claim righteousness over them._

His eyes widened, filling with pure loathing. "What demon are you to claim such things? You are no servant of the Light! You are but another demon in heavenly guise!"

_What demon are you to challenge the Light's command?_

"HELLSPAWN!" And with that, he charged forward. Mahi thrust her sword into the ground, drawing her mailed hands together. The intense, blue eyes shut, and for a moment all was silent but for the mad battle cry of the Scarlet Crusade leader. The murky clouds above thinned as the light beyond seemed to become so powerful it made them bulge and expand, like the thin surface of a bubble. Then they split apart, rotating wildly around the massive beam of light that burst forward. It slammed downward, a holy resonating- almost like music- pouring from it. It immediately hit the charging Crusade Leader…. And just like that, he was no more. There was no blood, no gore. He simply vanished, his armor, sword, and clothes tumbling to the ground. The rest of the Crusade reeled back, stunned, awed, and horrified by the display they had just witnessed.

_Trua…_

_Trua… Trua…_

_Relax… Relax…_ Mahi murmured in the time she had bought.

_But they'll die… They'll die! _wailed out Ketala. _No one should die! Not even the Scarlet Crusade! Why should these undead, those who have just begun to live again, die?_

_We live by how we affect the world. Now let them affect._

_Most of them can barely think!_

_Will you send forward only those who can? Those who would not aid and fight for you and for each other are those who would rather have death then unlife. _

_I'll bring death! I'll bring death to them! How can I do that- They think of me like a savior! Or even a mother- the way they nuzzle me and gather around me! Saviors and mothers do not send those they save and mother over to death!_

_But sometimes they must send them to war, Trua…_

_Why!_

_Because sometimes there are those that would hurt the mother or the savior… And the child and the saved choose to fight. And now, they'll fight for you. They'll fight for the world that we're making together, a world where innocent blood is not shed on a regular basis. You must let them go, Trua. They want to fight._

_They don't know what they want._

_Those of them that do, want to fight. _

_But… But… Uther told me to follow the rode of empathy- of compassion!_

_Empathy dictates you put yourself in another's position. If you were_ the undead_, wouldn't you want to save that which had saved you? Wouldn't you want to save your angel? The principles dictate the action. The outcome does not dictate the action. The principles at work here are to do what is right…The Scarlet Crusade are another Scourge, with those who can be saved and those who cannot. They are your enemy- you know that. You must let the undead fight them..._

_How can I kill them?_

_Show them mercy. Those who view you with only hate shall be the ones you fight. Those who question why they are shown mercies are the onesthat are still human inside._ Mahi lifted her eyes to see half the Scarlet Crusade charge forward in rage. Furious at her for what she had done, and blinded by an immortal hatred, a vengeance like that which drove Maive, they saw only an enemy in the Mahi. They saw only an enemy where there stood the very manifestation of all they sought to emulate. She reached over, gripping her sword, and she smiled as she felt the ghouls, destroyers and gargoyles line up behind her. Frost novas burst from the ground, various magics raining down to slow the opposition. To the side, Keever was dashing onto the screen, his spear twirling through the Crusade. Mahi sighed, murmuring a mental prayer, and then began to pull more life from the ground, throwing it up into thick trees and brambles, and bursts of light. Those who did not turn and flee met her sword, and the blade was soon slick with fanatical blood. She hacked at their mad rush. Any attackers who stayed back from her to launch holy energy were sorely surprised when the holy light did not come to their aid, and many of them turned and fled, realizing their mistake not a second too soon.

Ghouls lay strewn around the angel. Some tents had been burned down, or knocked over, and many of the spell casters in those damage tents, people whom had risked everything to turn the Scourge, now lay dead.

_Trua…_

_There are still Crusade members over therethatdidn't fight, _Ketala said quickly, trying to keep her mind off of all those whom had died.

_You saved so many lives in the camp, Trua. So many…Their raiding party was so large… The spellcasters could have never resisted it without you, _Mahi said, turning and looking at those of the Scarlet Crusade who had not been swept up in the mad battle lust. She smiled weakly and pushed her sword into the ground, coming up to them with empty hands. She came within several yards of them, looking down on all of them with brilliant, intense eyes.

_Go home, _she said softly, and she was obeyed. Mahi sighed again, looking down at her blade and shivering lightly. It was never a pleasure to take sentient life. It was never a pleasure to take any life. If Mahi had it her way, all those of fanatical hatred would be abducted and stuck somewhere where they would all be exposed to the good of the world, until they saw the foolishness of their ways. Alas, if it could be the way… _Keever?_ she thought suddenly, tensing. _Keever?_

_Here, Mahi._ She sighed silently this time, relaxing. _I'm alright. _Of course. She would have felt it if Keever was in danger. Still, next time she would keep better tabs on him… Mahi was, after all, mostly a mortal being. She lived… She walked the earth… She was imperfect. She was as imperfect as any mortal. The only difference between she and any other being, was that she was more in tune with the divine. She had a firmer grasp on philosophy. She was aloof, and she understood the Light's will, but she could also love. And, thus, she still could worry. Then again, perhaps that ability was both the greatest imperfection … and the greatest perfection of all.

"Who _were_ those people?" Jaina demanded, aghast, as she wiped blood off the side of her face, watching the rest of the Crusade members flee. "What kind of humans could… could do something like that? Attack MahiMahi? Kill other paladins and priests…?"

"They're called the Scarlet Crusade, Human," Sylvanis said from where she was polishing her bow. "We've been fighting them for years. They believe that any force that doesn't follow their rigid, fanatical code is an enemy, and they will slay them on sight. With so many undead here, we were a tempting target."

"But they attacked an angel!"

"Those of hatred follow demon ways," Varimathras murmured from where he licked blood from his claws. He shifted his eyes, glancing at Mahi, and shuddered, stepping so that Sylvanis was between him and the angel. "There are none that hate more then the ruthless."

"In essence, the Scarlet Crusade says they worship the holy light, but they are a warped and corrupted ensemble. In the face of an angel, they were so outdone the holy light would not even come to their aid,"Sylvanis continued. Jaina shuddered, shaking her head.

"I did not realize how… how torn Azeroth was."

"We're just lucky they took up residence in the Plaguelands and fought off the Scourge primarily, but they'll kill anyone- even Alliance- who comes near. It's funny that Stormwind blames us for their deaths- human deaths- as if we we're not doing them a favor.

"Several paladins lie dead or wounded because of what they've done- several good men. I'm sure Stormwind will see it if their most prized and celebrated crusaders have fallen in battle with other humans."

"For once, they probably will."

"Miss Proudmoore, Miss Windrunner," came a gritted, evidently angry voice. Thrall rode up, his dog grunting and growling. "You are both alright?" They nodded. "The hell was that?"

"Scarlet Crusade. Fanatical paladins. They even killed some of the Silver Hand," Jaina said in some disgust. He grunted lightly.

"Sounds like the warlock cults we still have running around."

"Yep, definite comparison there."

"Only bigger," put in Sylvanis. "They have whole, massive monasteries dedicated to their perverted view of justice and vengeance."

"Morals are based on upbringing," Jaina said, eyeing them.

"Hate is not a force of good," Varimathras returned. "I should know."

"Does that mean you are a force of evil?" she said, eyeing the Dreadlord.

"Of course. But good and evil are having less and less to do with what sides people are on. Ketala is good and yet she is on no side, only against that which would do her loved ones harm. Zul'vii is the same."

"And you are with Sylvanis."

"Correct."

"I disagree," said Zul'vii, coming up to them and dusting herself off. "But first, what's the status report?"

"Many are dead, but the injured are being tended to, and those who still can be revived are being so. We didn't suffer _that _many casualties."

"So nothing I can do to help?"

"Not really."

"Okay, so I disagree that he is a force of evil." Varimathras lifted a brow.

"Why do you say that?"

"The evilest thing you do is act without mercy, and most people do that. And you're not the director of your own actions. Because Sylvanis is your director, you are more a force of neutrality. Heck, your life depends on the lack of evil driving forces in your environment. It would be like an angel being bound to serve demons- while the angel may have the innate ability to be a force of good, they are more a force of neutrality because their actions are producing evil results- just like your actions produce 'good' results."

"We fight Stormwind."

"That's not evil, that's prejudiced. Take away Sylvanis's hatred for how humanity failed to save Quel'Thalas, and she's got primarily altruistic intentions. Past that,Sylvanis has a perfect legitimate reason for hating the humans. Maybe not for wiping them out, but certainly for being pissed with them." He snorted.

"This attack was horrible…" murmured Jaina, looking at the bodies strewn around, some being sorted through or cradled by comrades. Off to the side, one surviving Scarlet Crusade warrior squirmed and cried out in pain, his anguish ignored by the defenders as they knew not what to do with him. Even the ghouls- at least those of which had moderate sentience- were picking through the bodies of their fallen trying to find those who were merely unconscious or wounded.

"Why do you say that?" the Warchief wondered aloud, looking down at the small sorceress. "Sure it was somewhat of a tragedy, but we've fought demons, undead-"

"But not each other. Not ourselves." He tilted his head to the side, nodding slowly.

"Except when we were forced to fight Admiral Proudmoore." She nodded, turning and going out to help bare the wounded back for healing, even helping those wounded of the Scarlet crusade– those who would let her near –to the healers. Those who would not allow the attentions of the healers bled to death on the field, some still shouting curses even as convulsions wracked their bodies and their life's blood poured out in rivulets.

Such is the price of passion.

* * *

Jerod groaned, his vision a hazy gray before him. He heard voices shouting, screaming, but all he could feel was what was wrong with his body. He could feel hot and cold waves- colder even then his undead body, wafting over the massive gash.

Convulse… Gasp… Breathe…

He felt it… He felt her… He felt Ketala's mind, reaching out for his. His mind reached up, trembling, stretching for hers. In turn, her influence turned to him, reaching down. Their reach touched, brushing gently, and he fought, grasping for her, clutching on tightly.

Convulse… Gasp… Breathe…

He felt her shock… her pain… her horror… He felt her call out, holding on tightly to him.

Convulse… Gasp… Breathe…

So cold… Waves of cold and hot, a stillness, a leaden feeling. No pain. Just the immobile feeling one has when waking from a dream. Slight twitches, light jerks as the conscious attempts to assert control over the body again. Half between consciousness and unconsciousness. No control… Just stillness… Ketala's mind slipped through his grasp, as insubstantial as cloud. He did not fall backwards, he merely fell back to subconciousness. Heavy lead. Nothing to help. Nothing to do.

Breathe… Gasp… Convulse…

Stillness…

Nothing.

* * *

A long, low wail shot across the minds linked to the Trua. The owners of the minds shuddered, all momentarily pausing at the feeling of their savior's anguish. Ketala went through mental exertions akin to the physical ones of giving birth, a massive chunk of life and soul rudely shoving its way out of her mind and then dissipating into dust as she reached for it. Jerod was gone, a living, feeling being slain by a wild holy smite. The Light he had praised so long was his death. For the first time in her life, Ketala was forced to give up a fully functional mind; one that had filled part of her and made her more whole… And that experience nearly killed her…

Leaving Lodan alone, as the most mentally adept being under Ketala's sphere of influence, with the task of finding someone to save his mistress. It took him an exaggeratedly long piece of time to realize that the Priest he was carrying was, in fact, dead. It took moments of standing there, hearing Ketala's horrified wail of agony, to comprehend that Jerod, his closest friend, was dead. The Priest who's existence had proven, once and for all, that damnation was reversible, has been slain by something as simple as an angry human fanatic- and by his own Holy Light. If it were not for Ketala's affinity for the Holy Light, this horrible irony might have broken down Lodan again into the hateful DeathKnight he had once been. As it was, Lodan shuddered, just staring down at the poor Priest for a long, long moment. Then, gently, he laid Jerod down on the floor of the tent, beneath Euquin's uncomprehending gaze. He stood, staring down at the Priest, and then closed his eyes, breathing in hard.

"What 'Holy' Light is this that comes only to devotion and not to right? Jerod was… was… _good…_" He opened his eyes, looking up at the roof of the tent, blind to the open heavens above, the heavens that were still swirling arounddue to thelight that had made its way through. "What God are you to so torment your angels? What God are you to take two from her in a row, like this? What God are you to turn your light upon one who worships you?"

"Maybe person Jerod killed worshiped too?" said a meek voice from beside him. He lowered his head, staring at Euquin. "Maybe was good to his own people. Maybe he was one who would have run. Heard Mahi in Ketala's mind… Mercy… Maybe he would have taken mercy and run."

"The neither of them should have died."

"People will kill each other. Light is not good or evil, it is tool… Like sword or mace."

"You saw through the eyes of the undead out there! The Mahi could stop the Light!"

"She is good weapons master- disarms her opponent." He stared down at the night elf, jaw grit.

"Jerod… is… dead… Your friend is dead!"

"And one day, Euquin will be too." He fell silent.

"If Jerod not be there, Scarlet Crusade kill someone else? Jerod may have saved life of person."

"So what? One life for another."

"Maybe he saved life of person who will save life of many more. Or who's unborn children will. That would make Jerod happy, yes?" He quivered softly, turning away from her.

"We live only by what we affect," he said to himself. "If we save something that continues onward in the generations, we live on because we affected them." He lifted his head a bit. "But… Ketala…"

"Ketala…" Euquin said in a lower tone, nodding her head grievously. "Ketala doesn't know a way to let go. Must learn how, or die. Hard to love and let go… Maybe the Holy Light God knows how. He lets mortals affect things."

"Loves and lets go. Lets us fight. Lets us _die… _But still loves us?"

"Is heaven?"

"What?" he asked, looking at her.

"Is… there… a heaven…?" He blinked, falling silent, but seeing her pleading, innocent, trusting eyes, he nodded, despite whatever religious disposition he held at the moment. "Then we see Jerod again. Holy Light God lets go because death is not end." Lodan flinched.

"_You_ will see him," he corrected, and then fell silent, his eyes getting a far off look as he felt the distress emanating from the undead around him. His bond with Ketala was not as strong, as he was not entirely undead, but he could feel something wrong with his mistress all the same…

Something was wrong… Ketala wasn't crying… she wasn't wailing… she wasn't giving off anguish… Ketala was very…very still… And, quite suddenly, Euquin's words rang awfully true in his mind, 'Must learn how, or will die.' Ketala was in shock. She could not accept the loss of a kindred mind a second time… And he, Lodan, being the only reasonably mentally stable being around, was the only one who could get her help.

"Ketala hurt inside," Euquin said in a voice so low it was almost a moan. "Help… Help…" she pleaded, her voice growing higher and fainter. And, of course, he helped. He took a moment to register the fact that Ketala was suffering from trauma, and then he dashed out of the tent, searching for some being that could save his mistress.

In the end, it was Gydrion that Lodan first found, and it was Gydrion that entered Ketala's tent, ignoring Kel'Thuzad's skeletal smirk and pulling the tormented girl from her death hold around the lich. He took one look at Kel'thuzad, booted the unfortunate skeleton in the head, and then carried the dazed looking half-elemental out of the tent, Lodan following behind him like a lost, unhappy puppy. As it was no physical affliction that plagued Ketala, she was laid down on a cot with some warm blankets around her, undead milling about and fetching anything that was needed. As Zul'vii was the only healer reputed to be able to aid undead, it was her that was fetched. Tired from healing the Night Elf, the war, and all the animals she had been curing, Zul'vii came up and knelt beside the undead angel, gently touching one of her temples and closing her eyes. After a moment, she gasped, drawing backwards and swallowing hard. She lifted her hands, grasping her own head, and groaned softly.

"I… I'm too tired, Gydrion… I can't deal with her mind right now…" The Paladin nodded, grim. "I need rest… I… I'm sorry," she said, truly very unhappy, and she got up, staggering over to her own tent. A lich, one of those grouped around Ketala, reached forward and gently touched her arm. At the cold, at the skeletal brush, or at the sheer presence of the undead, Ketala twitched and shuddered. As a result, Gydrion had Lodan shoo them away, and the paladin knelt by the girl's side, gently taking her cool hand in his. For whatever reason, she did not shy away from his human warmth.

* * *

The Next Day

Zul'vii was silent, watching Thrash yowl unhappily over his master's still form, Gydrion still at the girl's side and watching over her with a drawn, pained expression on his face. She sighed softly, reaching forward her mind… And immediately retracted it. The mental field was Ketala's domain. Trying to contact her in a state like this was like trying to launch oneself into a pool of boiling oil. One just cannot bring oneself to do such things. She stood, walking back to Ketala's tent, and peered in, looking down at the lich. He was sitting up, carefully examining his previously damaged bones.

"Nice to see someone's recovering," she said darkly. He lifted his head, looking at her with dark, icy blue eyes, and gave an equally dark chuckle.

"I had nothing to do with Ketala's state, troll."

"I never accused you of having something to do with Ketala's state. That was brought on by her own exhaustion. But it would certainly be foolish of us to leave you, of all people, to your own devices in our camp. Get up."

"I cannot do so."

"I beg to differ. Get up, lich." Kel'Thuzad eyed the troll for a moment, sensing the potency of the being- a similar potency to that which Ketala possessed. He pondered a long, long moment, and then slowly pushed himself up. Aura flooded from his skeletal carcass, pouring down to where his feet should have been and scattering across the ground, keeping him held aloft in the air. "Follow," She said, drawing one of her axes out and holding it at ready as she turned, heading out of the tent. After pondering his options, the lich followed. Better to be docile then to rebel- he would gain more privileges that way. He glided after her, ignoring the hostile stares from the beings around him. She lead him through the maze of tents and eventually to a structure that held tent material aloof and blocked out wind and rain, but was open enough to allow free easy passage and view in and out of the tent.The lich'sdark blue eyes shifted to the immobile form on the cot before they even reached the tent, and he paused for a brief moment before continuing onward. Likewise, the paladin sensed them before they approached, and he turned his head to see the lich. Immediately, loathing crossed his face and he stood up.

"Zul'vii, you shouldn't have brought him here… Even the undead under her wing disturbed her…"

"Yet she calms oh so gently under the soothing hand of the champion paladin?" Kel'Thuzad said with dark amusement. "Ahh… You must have taken my place when Ketala fled my master's control. The tender, almost fatherly paladin that took young, undead swordswoman in. Congratulations for your lack of bias. Tell me, how does it feel to know she loves an undead murderer more then yourself?" Gydrion snarled, pulling out his blade, but Zul'vii stood between the two. She eyes Gydrion sternly a moment, and the priest regained control over himself, lowering his arm. Satisfied he wasn't going to attack, she spun around and whipped the undead lich hard across the face with the wooden back of her axe. He grunted, but looked back at both of them with amusement. He laughed lightly past the massive tusks that jutted from where his cheeks once were. Then he turned slightly, gliding around Gydrion and coming up next to Ketala, looking down at her pale, lifeless expression. He moved a hand, despite the way Gydrion locked up with rage, and brushed it lightly over her cheek. Ketala twitched, squirming, and breathed in hard.

"Stop! Get away from her lich- your presence upsets her!"

"Ah…" Kel'Thuzad said softly, "but she responds, does she not? She is still and silent beside you. Ask yourself which is better in her situation." He looked down at Ketala a long moment, watching her twitch and shake weakly. "Bring a ghoul," he finally commanded.

"What?" Gydrion hissed out through clenched teeth, evidently thinking the lich mad for so cruelly exposing Ketala to what she had lost.

"Bring a ghoul. Not two, or three, but one. Ketala recognizes with ghouls better then with any other being. One, solitary, insentient mind near hers might rouse her from her stupor."

"If you were not aware, it was the death of a ghoul that did this to her in the first place!"

_Ah, but you do not understand the female mind, Gydrion._ Gydrion's head snapped from the lich to the massive angelic being leaning lightly over to see under the tent. Kel'Thuzad's eyes of blue aura 'blinked', vanishing into a gray slit and then appearing again. He turned his head and his jaws parted in a bit of a gape, staring at the brilliant, golden figure.

_A mother, even a mother delirious with pain, instinctively knows the cry of her child. Likewise, Ketala, subjected to one of childish sentience- such as a ghoul- will be drawn to comfort said being. If anything can rouse Ketala from her stupor, it will be the cry of something that needs her. Being able to comfort and aid another will take her mind off of pain. _Mahi tilted her head to the side. _If she can react and respond vaguely, as Kel'Thuzad says, she should be able to notice the ghoul._

Gydrion nodded weakly, lowering his head lightly.

_As Ketala is currently incapacitated and Zul'vii is exhausted, I will lead a ghoul here. Wait for my return. Oh, and take care of Keever for a moment, would you? Two years with no one but me to talk to and he's forgotten how to interact with other people. _She took the arm of the plate-wearing champion and pushed him, he protesting unhappily, into the tent. She patted him gently on the head, smiling down at him, and then vanished. Keever began a protest and then fell short, sighing and wringing his staff in his hands. Zul'vii blinked, tilting her head to the side. Then she giggled.

"Keever?" He blinked, turning and looking at her past his helmet. "Keever? The same little Keever who was huddling terrified behind Mahi the first time I saw him?" He blinked, tilting his head to the side. Then, slowly, he nodded.

"Zul'vii. Two years is a long time."

"Apparently! Hey guys, Two years- just two years ago, Keever was one of Sylvanis's apothecaries!" Keever winced, and both lich and paladin turned their heads to look at Keever.

"Undead?" asked Kel'Thuzad, evidently still stunned and mystified- far out of his element.

"Yes! What I want to know is where all the extra muscle and battle prowess came from!" She giggled, prodding Keever gently in the plated waist. "You're wearing full plate!" He shifted uncomfortably a moment.

"Mahi's gift is in strengthening things, like your gift is in healing and Ketala's is in compassion. I matured faster under her sheltering wing. Besides, I could only really manage wearing something with the weight of mail. This armor is simply lighter then it looks." She nodded, smiling, and then lifted both her hands to his helmet. "No-"

"Oh, come on, you silly thing. Just let me look." He said nothing, shifting unhappily as Zul'vii pulled the helmet up and off. If anything, his appearance made the paladin and lich stare more. Keever took one glance at them and immediately looked down. Zul'vii chuckled softly. "There, there. Gydrion's just stunned and Kel'thuzad is a homicidal maniac." She smiled, ruffling his hair lightly, and he gave a weak imitation of a grin, thankful for the reassurance. She nodded, returning to him his helmet and watching him push it back on. "So, how does being the good guy feel?" He shrugged.

"Just glad to be with Mahi-"

"The angel… told me to bring a ghoul here," interceded Lodan, returning from where he had retreated at Gydrion's bidding. A ghoul trailed behind him, and at his side walked Euquin. The Night Elf sped up as she entered the tent, coming up to Ketala's side and looking down at her with worry.

"Will she be… alright…?" the Nightelf murmered.

"Mahi seemed to think she would be," said Zul'vii comfortingly. "Right Keev-… Keever?" She looked at the Mahi's companion to see that the undead was backing away. The expression of his one good eye, almost hidden beneath his helmet, was pure horror. "Keever, what's wrong?"

"_Her…_" the former apothecary hissed out, almost unintelligible. "Her… her… her… SHE DIED!" he cried out, anguished. The Night Elf's ears perked, her brain slowly, slowly registering that something was going on… something was going on that she was part of… That voice… That voice… She turned her head slowly, lifting her eyes to the champion, watching Zul'vii sit him down on the ground, gently stroking his shoulders over the plate and removing his helmet, gently stroking his cheek. The violet tongue, dangling from a mouth that was jawless, twisted in anguish. The undead rocked lightly, panicked and horrified. Euquin stared, her lips parting, concentrating on that face. There was a memory there… A memory… A deep memory… She reached for the remembrance, pushing aside death and undeath, pain and destruction, searching through the layers of her own brain… And when she finally reached that memory's trembling surface, it was taunt with pressure. The second she seized upon the memory, the second she remembered that undead's name, her something in her mind burst, memories pouring and flooding back into the whole of her mind like a wave. Her mental being returned, filing every crevice and dusting out every nook.

_Euquin… My name is Euquin…_ "I remember you…" the Night Elf suddenly said, staring down at Keever. He convulsed, staring up at the undead half Night Elf. The violet, once-abomination stared back a long moment, before slowly making her way up to Keever. She knelt as Zul'vii backed off, slowly sitting down and looking down at the smaller undead. Keever froze, tense and terrified, staring over at the being whom had haunted him for too long. "… …It wasn't… your fault…" She cocked her head to the side. "You did right… after I was destroyed…" She eyed the terrified undead for a long moment, and then stood up. "And if you hadn't, I would not be whole right now…"

* * *

Yayyyy! We've answered some of those questions finally! I hope you guys enjoyed, and, if you read the notes before the first break at the top of the page, I explain the slow update rate. I love you all!

**Review or I shall not update! YARG!**


	21. Awakening

I LIVEEEE! I LIVEEEE! BWAHAHAH! Ahem. Hey everyone! Sorry this chapter took so long, but I've got college hunting and school things and life things and A VIDEO GAME ADDICTION!

But I wont stop! I wont give up on this story! Now, if only BloodstainedHands would update Raincaller...

Review or I shall not update! Yarg!

Unless you desire to be bored by a fanatic's interests in such things as Opera, Broadway, and Ann Mcaffery, please do not read today's ending rant with too much vigor. :P

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* * *

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Awakening

* * *

During the Battle with the Scarlet Crusade

Furion went still, growing paler. Inwardly, his mind screamed, reaching desperately for the strands of life that had suddenly become so elusive. Death… death…

Blood spilled over the Bulwark, but, even as it did so, life blossomed. Strength poured out from an unending well, plant life bursting up from the ground. The strands of life reentered his grasp, and he began to shake again under the pleading murmurs of those around him. So close… So close… Elune and Cenarius protect him…

* * *

After the Battle with the Scarlet Crusade, Continuation from End of Last Chapter, At the Bulwark

Ketala gave a small cry, curling up and shielding her face, as if she could block out the world. A persistent nudge at her side roused her unwilling mind. Small snorts and nips brought her body back to awareness. A tiny mind tugged at hers, weak and helpless. She lifted out from her stupor, her mind slowly, painfully reaching out. Immediately, she was greeted by a single, worried presence, a tiny, childish mind. Thoughts of all she had lost tormented her, but her mind yearned for comfort. She reached out mentally, wrapping around the in the tiny mind and bringing it safely to her side. Her shuddering eased as she was nuzzled against, slowly lapsing into calm acceptance.

"There, you see?" proclaimed the lich. "It seems I know her best," he added, watching the paladin grimace. "Leave her be. And do _not_ touch the ghoul. I will be looking around." Gydrion blinked and whirled, glaring at the lich.

"What makes you think you have the freedom to go where you please? You are a prisoner."

"Yes. And my jail keepers…" he gestured to all the undead that were watching him with fury, "shall ensure I remain such." Gydrion's eyes flared, and he moved to speak up. Zul'vii intercepted him, shaking her head, and the two watched as the lich floated off.

"Why did you let him go?" the priest asked when the lich had departed.

"You will win more with caution then with hatred. If anything, Kel'Thuzad will be more prone to find a way to betray us if he is left alone with nothing but mental games to occupy him. Under the watchful eyes of the camp, he can do very little. _They_ know the rule of the Lich king better, and _they _know what to watch out for.

"Kel'Thuzad is one of the most powerful liches _alive-… _well… in existence! How do you know he will not use his magic?"

"Some of the spell casters and undead know Mana Burn. I'm sure they'd be happy to sap off him at every interval. Don't you worry- I'll keep tabs on him too." Gydrion eyed her a long moment, looking ready to argue. After a moment, he sighed, his shoulders drooping. "Don't let his words get to you. There is more to being a priest then pride." She smiled, patting him on the shoulder, and then headed off. The paladin grunted lightly, turning his head and looking at Ketala, whom was sleeping soundly, her eyes shut and a pained, though content, look on her face. Ketala would be safe. He took a step toward her, hesitant. Kel'Thuzad had warned not to bother her… But what did the lich know of mortal emotions? He stepped forward, smiling gently down at her, only to watch her convulse, her eyes opening and turning a blazing, angry red. She reached over, wrapping her arms protectively around the ghoul, and growled; a deep, low, primal sound in the back of her throat issuing forth. Gydrion froze, eyeing her.

"Ketala…"

"Not… Go away… Go away!" She wailed suddenly, her eyes turning gray as she nuzzled lovingly against the ghoul. "GO AWAYYY!" Hurt and rejected, Gydrion obeyed, going off to drown his sorrows in a mug of ale.

* * *

The Undercity

Varimathras had to say, he enjoyed watching Sylvanis torture someone _else_ for once. His Queen was currently having a lovely time dismembering Anub'Arak, prodding his mind incessantly for information. She had no mercy for her enemies.

"Victory may be near," she said, looking down at the jumbled heap of torn carapace that was the Nerubian Lord. "Though I shall not have my full revenge on Kel'Thzuad, Arthas is weak. Now is the time to strike…"

"We cannot afford a strike, my La-" Apparently in the brutal spirit, Sylvanis sent a jaggedly barbed arrow into one of his arms, pinning his shoulder to his wing. He grunted, looking down. "… My Lady, Arthas is weak… But if we leave the Undercity now, we shall surely lose it to him, and he is calling his most powerful minions to his side. It is in… my _most_ humble opinion… that we should satisfy ourselves with defeating the Scarlet Crusade and the Scourge in the western Plaguelands." She snorted.

"Your most humble opinion? Any opinion of yours is not humble." Another arrow, this one just to amuse herself, skit over the surface of his horn, digging a light groove into it.

"Arthas is weak, as you said. His control over the Plaguelands is loose. If we free the Plaguelands from him, he will have no connection with any graveyard or other site of corpses. He will have to return to Northrend, where the only deaths that could bolster his army come from the animals." She mused on this, slowly relaxing on her bow. "He will try and reinstate the plague. He is clever."

"He will have a harder time leaving Northrend to do so if we rip apart the Plaguelands." She nodded slowly. "And… we could free Quel'Thalas…" She went rigid, her eyes far away in time and space.

"Yes…" She snapped back to attention, coming up to him and playing with the head of the arrow that was through his wing and arm, as if contemplating whether to pull the arrow- barbed tip and all- through his arm, ripping out massive strips of flesh and muscle… or, to snap off the head of the arrow and pull it out without damaging her Majordomo. She decided on the second choice, sliding the arrow carefully out and licking the demon blood from it, grinning nastily at Varimathras. "Dismissed," she said, and he took it as his cue to get away from her as fast as possible. "Dreadlord?" He paused as she came up to him, holding back on his fear. He felt her presence behind him and- He stiffened in astonishment as she pinched his rear. "Unless you want me making comments about your ugly arse, please wear _backs_ to your pants from now on."

"Yes, my lady," he said, never mentioning that he wore armor, not pants, and that his fur kept him from being indecent. He was not sure whether Sylvanis was in a good mood or a bad mood. If anything, she seemed to be in a silly mood, a combination of her former life and her place on the line between vengeance and insanity, but that meant nothing accept that she was almost unpredictable. She dismissed him, and he hurried off, quaking in relief. He immediately visited a tailor and had the back piece of a loincloth made for him to attach to his armor. It was never wise to irritate Sylvanis.

As he left, dark, sadistic laughter came from the side, and he tensed, looking over to see Blightcaller. The Dreadlord immediately spread his jaws a bit, showing fang, but this only made Nathanos laugh harder.

"You think you can challenge _me_?" he said, mimicking some of Varimathras's favorite words. "Let us remind, you, Varimathras. You are her Majordomo. You help her with strategy. I am her champion. I fight." The DreadLord's expression contorted. Nathanos grinned further, and pulled harder on the nerve he had touched. "I am more akin to her second then you are… You are but a council… a liability… and a play thing…" Varimathras did not bite the line. If he understood anything, it was the mortal mind, and all manipulations of it and administered by it.

"I see you are missing one of your hounds, Nathanos, and the other seems quite damaged. A pity that the greatest Ranger Lord cannot even protect his beloved pets." Blightcaller chuckled.

"I had an interruption," he said sweetly. "Your own little puppy decided to direct them against my enemies." A fiendish smile crossed Varimathras's lips as he savored this information, deciding on how to apply it to the worst injury for the Ranger Lord.

"Ah, yes, adorable bitch, that she is… Tell me, Nathanos, how was it that a mere paladin managed to undermine the Ranger Lord's control of his animals? Could it be that there is someone more in tune with them? That they like her better? Shame on you, Nathanos. You've lost your place as second to Sylvanis to a follower of the Silver Hand… whom believes killing is wrong." Nathanos's eyes flamed. "A Lovely little angel that she is… Shall she gain control over you next?"

"I would watch out for your own hide, Dreadlord. Your bitch is rabid, and strains on its leash. You must remember that_ she_ is the hunter and _you_ are the prey, not vice versa. The angel shall overcome you. You cannot exist in a world of good." Varimathras did not dignify that with a comment, though it plagued him as he turned, continuing on his way.

Nathanos sneered as the Dreadlord passed, confiding in his private victory. Then he paused, suddenly unsteady. A deep, deep… _wrong _assailed him, so primitive and powerful that it overwhelmed him. Behind him, his dog yipped, pawing at itself and snarling, twitching and shaking. Deep wrong… deep… deep wrong… A long, low wail echoed through his mind, accompanied by a cacophony of shrieks. It was so far off, so distant and removed, yet it was so important, so vital that he clutched at his head in horror.

What was this? What was this… this state that had overwhelmed him? All turned to dead silence in his mind… and that silence was far more terrible then the keen shriek had been. There- he felt it… That horrible wretch… That horrible, horrible female… Ketala… He felt her mind numb, her body stiffen up and go still with shock. He felt her nerves paralyze, her eyes staring out at endless nothing- no will left in her to close them.

He laughed. After the initial shock and pain, he stood up straight, and he laughed. He laughed, and laughed, so horribly and completely that he half doubled over with the laughter, spitting dried mucus from his decayed lips and causing blood to flow lightly from rotten gums. And then he was sick- violently sick- all over the floor, and he cursed himself, and he held tightly to the wall beside him. He swore again and again, and he cursed himself, and he cursed that which had killed him, and he cursed Arthas, and, most of all, he cursed Ketala.

He cursed her in every way a person could be verbally cursed- with every vile world, and every pungent insult. He cursed her violently, shaking, and clutching his stomach- a stomach that had not moved or rebelled or properly digested for many years, but had suddenly now betrayed him. He cursed her, and he was sick again, because he had been stripped of his uncaring freedom and now had nothing but her to cling. She had broken him, forcing him into a mindset he had not asked for, and his mind and heart ached- against all his will- for the recovery of the angel that had so damned him.

(Hey! Sorry for the swearwords, but it was a perfect fit. Bitch means "female dog", and it refers to how Ketala is similar to a puppy, and like a pet or weapon.)

* * *

Continuation at the Bulwark

A day passed. Another day passed. And then, another day passed. Days passed. And Zul'vii stirred restlessly, unable to sleep. Why? Well, Zul'vii would insist it was because Illidan snored, and she'd become so used to the sound she couldn't sleep without the annoying noise in her ear. The truth was, however, that Illidan did not snore. The truth, however, was not far off.

Zul'vii missed the great, hulking, purple idiot. She sat up, looping her feet out of bed and clutching her rather broad shoulders. Zul'vii was not a proper female. Her breasts were unremarkable- small in fact. Her shoulders were rather broad, and she had a brutish look to her that had come directly from her Father's side. Despite Zul'jin's almost elfin grace and litheness, he was, after all, a troll. A great, barbaric, cannibalistic eight-and-a-half-foot monstrosity. Oh, true, his daughter was beautiful. She simply was not a _proper_ female.

But enough of that subject. Zul'vi clutched her slightly broad shoulders, sighing to herself and lifting a hand to rub her head. At last, she lifted both hands to her temples and massaged them.

"It shouldn't have taken this long. He should be back."

To boot, Zul'vii not only missed her companion of quite some time, but she had legitimate reason to believe him dead. Still, one would think that she, the healer, would know if her patient had died… But, then, where was he? She was beginning to debate on whether or not to have Mahi teleport her to Northrend. If Illidan was hurt there, it would be shame upon her not to help him. And, what was worse, Mag was currently playing the "aloof" game, and refusing to tell her anything about what path she was supposed to walk down. She stood, pacing back and forward. Out of all the angels, she felt the most powerless. She could not contact Illidan mentally, or strengthen him, or know where he was at all times…

It was ironic that Zul'vii had the most direct power, and, arguably, the most powerful. Zul'vii could heal that which would take the lives from beneath the fingers of the other two angels. If Zul'vii had been there, she could have saved Jerod's life. But that was the problem- Zul'vii had not been there. She had not known Jerod was so close to Ketala, that he'd needed help, or even where he'd been in order for her to find and help him. What good was a healer with no access to a patient? Zul'vii stood for a long time, looking miserably out north from the entrance of her tent. She wove back and forward on the balls of her feet, feeling all the more a failure. What good was she, she who had the power to save all but no knowledge of whom was in need of saving?

One of her best friends could be wounded or dying right now, and she had no way of knowing or reaching him. Alas, Zul'vii should not have been so distressed. She was a powerful creature, with an unbreakable spirit and an iron determination. Alas, she was exhausted, irrational, and agonized with all the healing she had been doing.

Had Zul'vii been entirely rational, she'd already be in Icecrown, demanding Illidan's whereabouts from Arthas. So, perhaps, it was better that this time she was too weak to follow.

The half troll sighed, lowering her head, tears of frustration forming in the corners of her eyes. She reached down, absently picking up a tomahawk. She hefted the small axe for a moment, and then sent it out of her tent and into a nearby tree, embedding it in the wood. A second small axe followed, embedding the handle of the first into the tree. She repeated this procedure until she was out of axes. Still frustrated, she laid down, pulling her blanket up to her cheek, her eyes never closing for a moment. From his little nest of damp leaves beside her bed, Zenn Foulhoof stared over at the Troll. After a moment, he jumped onto her hair and she giggled, lifting up a piece of meat and feeding to it. The poor toad. He was almost entirely of toad mentality, now. His old Satyr personality only came out when necessary. She really ought to find some way to turn him back to normal- but, then again, it was always nice to have a loyal pet.

Zul'vii did not sleep that night. With Zenn safely asleep in his little makeshift nest, she stared out silently at the darkness of her tent, her cheeks cold from a few tears that had dripped down. Her heart convulsed with delight as she heard the soft pat of hooves on the ground. Her stomach turned unhappily as she recognized Satyr voices- those of her comrades that had accompanied her from her tribe. They spoke to each other in hushed but grating voices, and then they departed, leaving the poor, distressed troll alone and unhappy.

In the morning, Jaina sent her back to Kalimdor with the last of the troops. Her healing of the animals was complete, and everyone insisted that she needed a rest. Not once did Zul'vii happen upon MahiMahi or Keever that morning, and not once was she given the chance to protest the direction the teleport took. Zul'vii's trip to Northrend was not to be. The moment she was shown to a room in the Moonglade, courtesy of the neutral Cenarian Circle and of Tyrande herself, Zul'vii collapsed to her bed and slept.

Zul'vii stirred in the morning and smiled, hearing her parents greet her from within her mind.

_You do know that you shouldn't tax yourself so much, _her mother cautioned sternly.

_Oh, leave her alone, elf._

_Well, she at least shouldn't go to Northrend._

_What? And miss the adventure of a lifetime? What kind of child are you raising here? _

A pause, in which Myev must have glared severely at Zul'jin.

_Sigh… Yes, I know you're right. She can't go. Sorry, Zul'vii. There, you can stop glaring at me now, Elf._

"I must go. He's my friend."

_If he can't take care of himself, what makes you think that you, wounded as you are, could do any better?_

"Are we forgetting who had to save him in Northrend last time?"

… _She has good arguments._

_You are such a pushover, Troll. _Zul'vii lifted her head, looking around. Her ears pricked up lightly as she heard the commotion below, and she located her pack, dressed, and headed downstairs to see people rushing around, all with worried expression's on their faces. The troll cocked her head to the side, asking around, but everyone she asked was too busy and seemed to want to avoid the subject with an outsider. Thus, the half troll took it upon herself to climb to the top of a building to get the general gist of which direction everyone was heading. After some calculations and observations, Zul'vii came to the conclusion that everyone was rushing everywhere, and that she was no closer to finding out what was going on. Thus, she decided to take a stroll. The majority of Moonglade was pure and pristine. Thus, the majority of Moonglade could not be the cause for concern. After deciding that no trouble was within the city walls, Zul'vii headed to the only other location in this beautiful land with building- the Stormrage Barrow Dens. After inquiring the name of this place, Zul'vii took to some serious thinking and came up with a sudden, quite likely answer.

This place was called "The Stormrage Barrow Dens". The Barrow Dens were where druids slept in the Emerald dream. As these were called "The Stormrage Barrow Dens" and Illidan was not a druid, these Barrow Dens must house, along with other druids, Malfurion Stormrage himself. The only thing that could have an entire race in such an uproar AND send Tyrande home early… was Malfurion. Something was happening with the Archdruid.

Zul'vii recalled, also, that Tyrande's beloved, the Archdruid Malfurion Stormrage, had been lost in the Emerald Dream for quite some time. Therefore, the only possible thing that could have people in such an uproar would be if he had been found, or if he was trying to reestablish contact with his body. Since everyone was in such a state of worry (Not panic) it meant that things were not going right, but had not been going right or wrong for quite some time.

Thus was how Zul'vii realized that Furion needed help, and was unable to rouse himself on his own. He was trapped in limbo between the dreaming and waking worlds.

Again, she was reminded of how useless she was. If Ketala were here, the half elemental would have been able to pull Furion's mind back to his body. If Mahi were here, she would have been able to strengthen the ties between the druid and his body. What could Zul'vii do? Nothing. She sighed, beginning to explore the dens to ease her boredom and loneliness. It had surprised her when the druids that guarded the entrance let her pass without a second glance, but it astounded her beyond measure to hear voices inside one of the dens.

Zul'vii was a rogue. Like Illidan and her father before her, she was a fighter of grace and dexterity, not brawn. But rogues also had one talent that normal beings did not… Blending into the shadows, the Angel of Healing crept forward. The guards, distracted by the events within the room, did not pay enough attention to notice the subtle signs of a stealthed rogue, and, thus, Zul'vii the half-troll found herself gazing down at Tyrande. The woman was seated at the side of what appeared to be a corpse, it was so pale and atrophied. The Great Malfurion Stormrage would waste away to nothing if this continued.

Pity welled up in Zul'vii's heart. As the instincts of the rogue faded, and the instincts of the healer took over, she faded out of stealth, much to the astonishment of the elves in the vicinity. White light crackled around her feet and fingers. The Troll reached out, past the hands that sought to restrain her, and she touched the pale forearm of the suffering druid. Her aura, a facet of her power that Zul'vii knew nothing about, slipped deep into Furion. Her fiery gift of Life swept deep into the core of the druid, and blazed out like a beacon to the spiritual world. Malfurion needed no further urging, and he seized upon this spout of Life, at last finding his way back to his body… Instants after Zul'vii's fingertips touched the arm of the Archdruid, Malfurion convulsed in agony, his eyes opening and blazing dimly with pain.

"Furion!" "Malfurion!"

"Shan'do!"

He shuddered weakly, drinking down the broth that was pushed to his lips, a wild and confused look to his eyes. His gaze shifted to Tyrande and… and he smiled… He smiled, before drifting back into true, untainted sleep. At last, The Archdruid was allowed to rest. Zul'vii followed. Her power had been leeched out through her aura, and she had no more left to give- even to her own body. She crumbled into the arms of those who once thought to restrain her, and she fainted immediately.

* * *

The Bulwark

Kel'Thuzad did not respond to the black, barbed arrow currently protruding from his breast bone. He knew the identity of his assailant, and he was currently on her turf. "Perhaps my judgment was ill when I promised Ketala authority over your fate," came Sylvanis's voice from behind. He sighed, lifting his head and peering at the Banshee over one of his tusks. "I did not expect her to allow you to wander around freely." No response. "You are strangely quiet, lich. I have never known your nonexistent tongue to still before."

"Speech is irrelevant if it cannot influence the outcome to a positive light." She smiled darkly. "I am a prisoner here. The undead ensure that I can do nothing. My mana reserves are entirely emptied."

"You do not seem a prisoner to me."

"You would not know. You take victims, milady, not prisoners," he said wryly. He was rewarded with another arrow sailing at him, but he never received it. An abomination lumbered into the path of the arrow, taking the bolt harmlessly in the gut. It looked down at Sylvanis, ghouls swarming around its feet and another Abomination lumbering up behind Kel'Thuzad.

"Ketala says…" the front Abomination began, "we say… You gave permission to us to decide what to do with Kel'Thuzad, and we have decided. He is no longer your concern," the abomination bellowed out with more strength, despite the grim hatred wrinkling Sylvanis's ivory face. "Think the fate poetically ironic, we say. Kel'Thuzad is doomed to spend the rest of his days smothered by an overenthusiastic child, with no access to the power he betrayed all life to pursue."

"Ketala implied she would slay the lich. She twisted her words to convince me to allow her stewardship over his fate."

"Ketala does not do this to spite you, we tell you," the abomination said, eyeing the banshee. "Varimathras is dangerous, yet you keep him under your thumb. Varimathras is dangerous, yet you keep him around for what you get out of it." Sylvanis stiffened, peering at the abomination. For the first time, she understood that Ketala was directly behind these words. 'For what Sylvanis got out of it?' Ketala, on the surface, meant the advice and strategy Varimathras supplied. But Sylvanis was left wondering if Ketala had had a deeper meaning… If she knew the comfort Sylvanis sometimes yearned for…

Impossible. How could she know such a thing? Still-.

"Ketala gets similar value out of keeping the lich alive." Sylvanis's eyes narrowed, her suspicions confirmed. Ketala knew, and Ketala got sentimental value from keeping Kel'Thuzad alive. Was that a threat of some sort? A threat to do what? "We ask you understand this, and leave Kel'Thuzad's fate to her decision." The Banshee glowered, turning her gaze to eye Kel'Thuzad dangerously. Then, without another word, she turned and strode off. Kel'Thuzad smirked, watching her go. He turned, gliding from between the two Abominations and returning to Ketala's makeshift tent. He hovered up to the side of the cot, looking down at her, and nodded lightly upon seeing her sleeping regularly. He was carefully not to come too close, or to touch the ghoul that was nestled tightly in her arms. All went as planned.

He merely need remain stalwart against Ketala's aura long enough for her to trust him… He could, in theory, kill her now. However, that would result in her minions pouring down upon him, and there were enough healers here to bring her corpse back to functioning. Killing Ketala now would not be the end of it. He needed to wait… To wait until they were alone, and until she trusted him enough to allow him to use his magic again.

He could wait. He could be patient. If only he did not risk her mind wearing into his and breaking his convictions down from within…

* * *

ThunderBluff

Cairne smiled as the unicorn bleated for milk. He stood, coming over to the side of the cot. He plucked the jar of milk from the table on the way, pushing some cloth into the neck of the bottle. He tilted it over, letting the milk saturate the cloth, and pushed it to the unicorn. Immediately, the equine being took the bunch of cloth in its mouth, nursing contently. A massive, shaggy hand pet the small creature's neck and back, mussing its hair. After a bit, the unicorn released the bottle and laid its long head on Cairne's forearm, rubbing it against the tauran's coarse fur. Smitten from the first, the tauran chuckled, picking up the small creature in his arms and setting it gently down on the ground. It bleated lightly, scrambling to its feet, and then it looked around indignantly. He smiled, crouching and patting its horn and nose gently. The unicorn jumped around a bit, making small curious noises. Then it reared up and set its hooves on his shoulder, and he laughed.

"So, you want to play, do you? These old bones are a bit worn for such games." The unicorn snorted, and then backed up, rearing up and kicking its front legs out happily, prancing around him and repeating this procedure. He laughed, shaking his massive head back and forward "Ah… why don't I take you out to play with the other children?" The unicorn whinnied lightly, rearing up one last time… and Cairne blinked, watching the unicorn shift shape into a humanoid version of itself. He tilted his head to the side, looking at what could pass for a half-tauran. He knew the little thing was female, but it was so lovely it would probably be incapable to tell if it were male from its face. Its legs were recurved and coated with soft white-silver fur. A mane of similar white-silver hair pooled down from the top of its head. Its skin was smooth and white where it did not have fur. The single horn protruded from a very human or elfin face, with slender, elegant features and huge, happy green eyes. Behind it whipped a white, lion-like tail.

"Sweet child. You are like an idol of peace. Your face is like an elf's, yet you stand like one of my kind. Our peoples are not that different. We closely worship nature… and are similar in so many other ways. We should not war…" The girl smiled happily, putting her arms around his massive neck. They did not meet in the back, but he smiled, giving her a large yet gentle hug. He stood, picking her up in his arms. Striding out of his hut, he surprised the guards that normally stood at the entrance to his abode. They scrambled after him as he walked through his peaceful town, drawing little bows of respect and waves of delight from the citizens of ThunderBluff. The little girl looked at everything in wonder over one of Cairne Bloodhoof's massive three fingers. He carried the small child all the way to the tanner's hut, and he had the leatherworkers and tailors there make her a little play dress. With this done, he lead the little child out into the city. Only a few minutes later, she was engaged in games far too strenuous and active for the great Tauran to follow. He simply stood there, and he smiled, and he watched the little girl run around in spirited play.

ThunderBluff was a place of healing, peace, and attunement with the earth, much like Moonglade. Why? It was just too damn hard to invade. Endless stretches of grass around the towering peaks of Thunderbluff allowed bowmen to pick off enemies from a distance. The sturdiness of the rocky peaks, and the wards placed around them, ensured that the powerful structures of nature would never collapse, no matter what strain enemies might place upon them. The only ways up to the top were A: Flight, which could be easily spotted and shot down from far away, B: Scaling the earth, which was relatively impossible, and could be stopped by dropping heavy objects onto the climbers from the top of the cliffs, and C: by using the elevators, which could only carry so many people and could be cut to drop the enemy to its doom.

In short, the Tauran's only natural enemy, the centaur, stood no chance of disturbing ThunderBluff, and, thus, the city was a city of immeasurable peace…

* * *

Moonglade

Zul'vii stirred groggily into the waking world. She shifted, yawned, and blinked back sleep from her eyes. She was nestled safely within a bed of feather-filled pillows and blankets, and she smiled contently from her warm position. More warmth… a warm liquid… She blinked, lifting a hand to see it coated in hot magenta blood. Her eyes widened and she looked around to see the blankets and pillows coated in the purple blood. She turned her head to see a window- warm and surrounded by the violet and green leaves of the elfin homeland… But… outside it… A massive peak soared into the air, alive with ice and gore and death. So close… A cold… dark laughter pierced the warmth of her room, chilling her to the bone. On instinct, she turned her head around… And came face to face with the mutilated corpse of Illidan Stormrage, spewing gore and brain unto the pillows next to her.

Zul'vii screamed out as she was shaken awake. Her piercing screams seemed to still wander around the darkness of the room she was in, echoed softly by the shadows. "Wake up! Wake up, you're dreaming!" her eyes flew open, and she gasped, shuddering and sobbing. It was not so much the content of the dream that terrified her, but the aura… The fright caused by dreams is normally from the aura that the dream radiates…

And this one had shaken her, leaving everything inside her as cold as ice. She whimpered, sobbing incoherently as cold arms gathered her up, and her cheek was pressed against tight muscle radiating warmth from within. A heartbeat thumped powerfully against her cheek, and she calmed as her face was wiped with a warm, wet cloth, wiping away the tears and snot that had leaked out in her terrified delirium.

"It's alright… it was just a dream…"

"It wasn't- it wasn't! I've gotta go to Northrend but I'm so tired! I've been healing for forever, and I kept trying to find Mahi to send me there, but everyone wants me to rest and they sent me here instead, but I have to get to Northrend! But everyone's so worried and upset, no one will help me!" and she broke down crying again, so hurt and helpless as she was, half asleep, exhausted, and not quite sure she was actually awake. A hand- much bigger then her own, a rare thing- cupped her fingers and gently brought them up to touch soft, thick hair… and, beneath that hair, a rigid stub. Her mind turned to this new problem, working furiously to determine what on earth that stub was and why she had been confronted with it. "Wh-…?" she murmured, calming down and trying to determine what was going on. She slowly lifted her other hand, touching hair and another stub. Two… two damaged horns? Her eyes widened into the darkness of the room, and she lowered her hand to the demonhunter bandana around the eyes of the person who held her. She shuddered, and then relaxed, all her anxieties and loneliness laid to rest. Her best friend, her companion of so long, had been returned. All was right with the world. The bickering, the arguing, the fighting could return. All was right with the world.

* * *

A Short Time Ago, Stormrage Barrow Dens

Dutiful to the last, Jaina had asked Tyrande to let her know when Malfurion had recovered. Thus it was that that the Human was present as soon as word could be delivered to Theramore by owl. Thus, Jaina was there when the demonic portal opened up in the middle of the Barrow Dens. In fact, Jaina was standing quite near to where the portal opened up, and she jumped upon seeing it. Immediately, her water elemental burst from the ground, and her staff was at ready. The guards from the surrounding dens rushed forward, but not before Illidan Stormrage stumbled through the portal, giving a wave of his hand to close it. He was a second too late, and a felhound bounded in after him. Known for their terrifying power against spellcasters, the mere presence of a felhound made Jaina jump backwards in alarm, preparing a powerful ice spell in her mind. She need not have bothered. Illidan had, long ago, learned how to deal with felhounds. He grabbed the beasts tentacles with a sweep of his hand. The other hand dug one of his massive demonhunter blades- the blades of Azzinoth- into the side of the beast. He dropped the carcass, turning his head with a snap to look at Jaina.

"Where _is_ she?" he hissed out dangerously.

"Why were you in Outland?" she returned. His eyes flamed, and he looked about ready to throw one of his blades after her. However, he calmed his temper to answer.

"I do not have the power to teleport to any location I desire. My portals deal with extraplanar travel. I can teleport to Outland from anywhere, and teleport from Outland to any particular spot I know well. This spot was well known to me, even before my exile, because it borders Mount Hyjal and was part of the original continent before the destruction of the first Well of Eternity. I learned only later on that Furion had made the Barrow Dens here, but it did not matter. My memory of this place was strong enough to construct a proper portal. Now, if you are done quizzing me, I was told that you had brought Zul'vii here. _WHERE IS SHE?_"

Deciding not to further anger the demonhunter, Jaina pointed toward Nighthaven.

"In that direction- there is a town here in Moonglade called Nighthaven. She is in the inn, in the bottom, eastern-most room. She barely got a chance to finish before the massive wings lifted him into the air and sent him pounding toward Nighthaven.

Jaina just shook her head, assured the Barrow Den guards that Illidan would do no harm, and went immediately to Furion's spot in the dens. She found, as she had intended to find, Tyrande at his side.

"High Priestess?" Immediately, Tyrande looked up at Jaina and smiled.

"He is well… I can hardly believe it-"

"That is why I came, Tyrande. But I have other news- Illidan just arrived." Tyrande blinked, her brows creasing.

"Illidan? Why would he return here? Surely it is not because Furion is recovering?"

"No, I doubt he has any idea Furion is well. He asked for where 'she' was. Judging by his proximity to Zul'vii, I pointed him in the direction of the half troll." Tyrande was silent a moment, a thoughtful look to her features.

"That should be alright. I doubt Illidan would harm Zul'vii… Although…" she looked directly at Jaina, concerned. "Did he seem himself? Oh, how could we expect you to know him? I must search him out now." Reluctantly, she released Furion, moving to stand up.

"He was bitter, sarcastic, and felt like I was a lowly insect annoying him." Tyrande paused.

"… He seemed normal…" she reflected. Jaina Proudmoore chuckled.

"That he did."

"What about the wound in his chest?"

"He seemed… weakened, but I did not pay attention to Frostmourne's mark." Tyrande nodded, leaning back to the side of Furion's bed.

Aroundten minutes later, several distressed druids confirmed Jaina's report. They had come from Nighthaven, where they had been forcefully evicted from caring for Zul'vii. She'd been delirious, talking in her sleep and shaking, and Illidan had stalked in, cursed them for being ignorant, and threw them out (one of them literally).Though she inwardly worried, Tyrande reassured all of them, and prayed that Furion's brother knew what he was doing.

* * *

I love you all! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! And don't worry, with luck we will have action again, and this fic wont dissolve into cliche unflavored romantic mush! Not that romantic mush isn't good sometimes, but we can only have so much! 

I just wanted a scene with someone reduced to a shadow of their former selves by worry and exhaustion and frustration. People are different people when they're tired and unhappy O.o. And Illidan needed one White Knight moment. He's an antihero (Definition: Protagonist of a Story without any heroic qualities), but for goodness sake, he needs a break from gloomy hate sometimes. Oh, dont worry. He has reasons for being nice, he's not _that_ good :P Illidan's not very good at being unselfishly good after all.

We shall conclude with today's uninteresting rant:

This message has been certified by the United Sugar Companies of America (USCoA) UBER HAPPY FACE: )

**And this chapter was written whilst under the effect of Opera!** Not Opra, Opera! YES! OPERA! BWAHAHAHAH! FEAR ME!

Does anyone know why Phantom of the Opera only has one minorly operetic peice in it? It should be changed to Phantom of the Broadway. I like Broadway. Masquerade! Paper Faces on Parade! Masquerade! Night time sharpens, heightens each sensation. Darkness stirs and wakes imagination! Silently the sences abandon their defenses... I am your angel of music... Come to me angel of music... You were once my one companion... You were all that mattered... This tattered face holds no horror for me now... It is the soul in which the true distortion lies... Angel of Music you decieved me.. How young and innocent we were! She may not remember me, but I remember her!

Anyone seen "The Wicked"? Man, that has good music. Or "Les Miserables"?

Ann Mcaffery is my idol! So what, she doesn't allow fanfiction. I was going to write a fanfiction, but then I read ALL of her books and found that she adressed and wrote out every situation I was going to write the fanfic on! Curse her! I think she's me in disguise! Like the director who made Aliens Vs. Predator and the second Resident Evil movie!

Airline food! What's up with that?

Sorry, I was bored and wanted to rant. Ooh! Maybe my rant will give you something to review about if you didn't normally want to review:Crosses fingers:

Please Review! Yarg!


	22. Love is Strange

Yes, it's a short chapter, but at least I managed to post! Hehe

RogueChimera. That was the single, sole, and best review I have ever seen. Congradulations. You win... THIS:Shows off a brand new shiny quarter and a giant chocolate chip cookie: BUT TOO BAD! I WANT THEM! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAH:Eats the cookie and the quarter: O.o... Riiiiiighhht...

Shietan, do you realize your the first person to ever review this story? CONGRADULATIONS! YOU JUST WON A NEW CAR- P. :Shows off feeder fish: Yes, Goldfish are pretty much a type of carp. No, you don't get your money back. You didn't speand any money. Cash Refund? Hmm, I'd give you a quarter, but you'll have to wait till it passes through my digestive tract. O.o...

Okay, but seriously.

**RogueChimera** Thank you for reviewing :) And yes, Illidan hates Snowcones. That Felhound plushy was MUCH more appetizing.

**This-Sentance-Is-False **Thank you for the compliment- and Yes, both those fanfics are very very good. I like both :) I'm just saddened by the lack of mondo chapterness. Do you know that without this chapter, I have 151,090 words? Raincaller has 102,284 and Into Strange Lands has only 16,182. Though, I suppose its about quality, not quantity, it would be nice to see more material from them, as they're both splendid authors.

**Yeth** I understand your concerns, and, ordinarily, I'd have a book that uses 'energy' not 'mana reserves'. However, the system doesn't have to be the same in every book- just like its not the same in every game. In this game, I prefer allusions to Mana. Mana is just the word for amounts of magic. If you say you have no mana, no magic is running through you. I just made a choice to use Mana in this fanfic, just for a change.

**Azure **Yes, I know, I'm sorry for killing Jerod. Jerod was cool. Jerod shouldn't have died. But he did. And it was not good. Why couldn't Lodan die? No one wants Lodan ;)

**Ishkal** Wow. Thanks, that was flattering.

**Sheitan** I'm glad to see the first person to ever review is still there! Thank you :) I hope I am getting better! I'll believe it if you tell it to me every day of my life and promise me I"m pretty ; P Hehe

AND A BIG HAND TO **EVERYBODY ELSE!**

I hope you like my story! It may not be the best out there, it might not be a type of story you even like, but dang it if it isn't the longest and strangest hodgepodge of relationships ever to grace a computer screen! I WILL BE THE BEST AT MEDIOCRACY! FEAR ME!

Luv you all!

**Please review!**

* * *

**Love is Strange**

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Moonglade

Zul'vii sat up weakly, looking hazilly around her room for a long moment. It was early morning, and the soft, golden light of a morning in Moonglade poured in through the windows. Immediately, she was aware of something that smelled dreadful, and she looked down to see a plate of rather burnt food at the side of her bed. After sampling some of the burnt meat and miraculously burnt cold fruit, she nodded to herself. Defiantly Illidan's handiwork. You could always tell a sorcerer by their lack of cooking skills. The room was lukewarm. She preferred it that way, as she was a forest troll and used to temperate zones.

Zul'vii looped her legs out of her bed, scolding her parents irritably for scolding her, and she stood up on the soft, thick wood below her. Vertigo assailed her, and she sat back down quickly, her mind spinning in massive helixes. She closed her eyes, swooned a bit, and gagged, ready to vomit. Big hands touched her shoulders; steadying her and pushing her gently back into bed.

"I was really worried about you, you big idiot," she said fiercely, her eyes opening and glaring up at the demonic Nightelf that stood over her. "The hell took you so long?" In a far, far different temperament then the one he left her in, Illidan's countenance betrayed nothing as he pulled the blankets back up over her.

"One blade had gone over the cliff and been frozen in the river below," he said simply, as if that should explain everything.

"My ass. You were gone for a week at least." She lifted her hand to his chest, to where she knew Frostmourne's wound was. Before she could touch the wound to examine it with her fingers, her hand was abruptly snatched from the air.

"You must not heal for awhile," he insisted, pushing her hand back to her side.

"Why not?"

"Because you are exhausted and need to rest."

"And why the heck do you care?" He fell silent, just looking blindly down at her and cocking his head to the side.

"Why do you?" he countered after a moment. "Your strain could have killed you, and yet all you could blubber about in your sleep was "Northrend"," he said with a light sneer.

"I'm not the one who went back to an island of severely pissed off and paranoid undead monstrosities to get back a rusty old blade!" His face contorted and he looked about to argue. He paused, however, and just stared down at her for a long moment. His countenance relaxed and he laughed very, very lightly, patting her on the head.

"Annoying troll. Sleep."

"I'm hungry."

"I made you food."

"You made me some slightly meaty ash." He grunted, evidently insulted. "You should go find Tyrande. Ask her how Furion is doing."

"Why? He is sleeping, I suppose, the same as always."

"He was trying to wake up earlier. I could tell. That's why Tyrande came back here early. He was shaking and twitching, as if he were trying to reach his body but were trapped between the sleeping and waking worlds. I… I saw him…" she said, her brows furrowing even as she started to drift back to sleep. "He was as pale as you… and… and just skin and bones…" she murmured weakly, her eyes fluttering shut. "In … Barrow… Dens…" Illidan tilted his head to the side, gently tucking the blankets around the half-troll again. He stared down at her a long moment, watching her white aura slowly creep out and permeate the world around her again. That aura had shrunken to a form so frail… so tiny… He shook his head to dissipate the thoughts that went through his mind, and he turned, looking at the door. At once, he was repulsed and drawn by the proposition of leaving. She was so frail… She was so irritating a liability… At last, he convinced himself to walk over the threshold, out into NightHaven, and along the paths that would take him to the Barrow Dens. If Furion was awake…

Well, it would be a good thing to know now in order not to be surprised later. Two druids blocked his path into the Dens. It took minimal effort to magically knock them unconscious and proceed onward. Deep into the earth, he found Tyrande cradling Furion's form. Several druids were clustered around her, helping to sustain and strengthen the Archdruid in order that he could awaken and take nourishment again.

"Still he sleeps?" Illidan murmured, stepping into the light of the den. His presence immediately put the druids on their guard, but Tyrande smiled up at him. Her pleased expression made its way into her aura, and he relaxed upon receiving this sign of welcome, gazing blindly at the priestess he would always love.

"No, Illidan… Furion woke! He sleeps naturally now…" the elation and love in her voice immediately repelled all sense of welcome and relaxation, and a clouded look replaced the smile that had tempted his lips. She would never speak of he, Illidan, with such love and admiration.

"Ah," Illidan said simply. No further comment was required. His gaze fell to his twin and, for all who could see flesh rather then auras, it was ironic how similar the two were at the moment. With Furion so pale and malnourished, there were once more few differences between the brothers. The only differences were between the green and violet hair… the beard and the smooth jaw… and the types of stress that had added some age to their elfin complexions. Oh, and of course the extremities. Furion sported a set of magnificent antlers akin to Cenarius's, and Illidan bore two massive wings, fur on his lower legs, and hooves- not to mention his increase in overall mass. Still, the similarities were there. An observer could note that the two men might have been brothers, or, greater still, twins.

Remembering her place, Tyrande looked up from where she had been fondly gazing down at her beloved, returning her attention to Illidan. "What of the half-troll, Zul'vii? Is she alright? The druid's told me they had doubted she would last the night."

"The druids were ignorant of how to care for her."

"Ah? A unique case, considering their position as healers." Illidan snorted, 'looking' back at the leader of the Sentinels, his own beloved.

"First, they insisted on keeping her warm. Zul'vii is a _forest_ troll, not an island troll. She was burning up. Then they were trying to calm her down with potions and to get her to lie still, not realizing that her activity, while weakening her further, was the sign that she was not dead yet. The narcotics almost stopped her heart from beating."

"She was, supposedly, nightmaring horribly. It was putting a massive strain on her body, they were only trying to calm-"

"No one considered trying to wake her up from the nightmare." Tyrande blinked, surprised by this simple solution.

"And you did?"

"Yes. After assuring her that everything was alright, she calmed down and went back to sleep," he said, denying his own importance in the tale.

"What did she nightmare on?" He pondered on the answer a moment, and then gave a simple response.

"Undead."

"Ah. I suppose that is to be expected. The poor thing was under a lot of strain… And when she snuck in here to heal Furion…" Tyrande lifted her eyes in an 'Elune bless her, but that was stupid' expression. Illidan stiffened.

"She… is the reason Furion woke?"

"Yes, though we are not sure why." He turned his head, looking back down at his brother, and grit his teeth at the beacon of hot white light within his brother.

"… He used her aura as a beacon to find his body," he said darkly. "He nearly killed her…" The last words came out as a growl, and Tyrande fell silent, watching Furion's brother. Of course, Illidan's reasoning had no trouble adopting Furion as the culprit. It is hard to blame oneself, after all, and it was, in actuality, Illidan's fault for putting so much strain on Zul'vii's mind. Still, it was easy to blame Furion for being selfish, and Illidan, with a final look at Tyrande, turned and stalked away.

His reaction, however, gave Tyrande further insight (and confusion) on the inner workings of Malfurion's twin. For whatever reason, Illidan cared a great deal about the welfare of his half-troll companion. She wondered, for the first time, whether it was possible for Illidan to fall in love with another…

No, that look he gave her as he left was enough. Illidan, though he had accepted his fate as below Malfurion, would never fall out of love with Tyrande. She had been the obsession that had sustained him in all his loneliness beneath the ground.

Zul'vii peered out from between her blankets. Illidan sat in a chair beside her. His hands were cupped at her level. A spell- a spell to show a memory long past- was at work. In his clawed hands was a field of flower. Dancing joyfully in the field was a miniature version of Tyrande. She was young- not even at her prime of life yet- and she was a beautiful whirl of white and violet, so young and carefree. As it was made from magic, even he could see it- a little light in his world of darkness. Unbeknownst to Illidan, Zul'vii was, in fact, awake, and she watched the little scene playing silently in the demonhunter's hands. A droplet fell, splattering lightly upon the curve of his thumb, and Zul'vii blinked. Ah… Apparently Illidan had not succeeded in fully ruining both of his eyes. At least one still had a functioning tear duct. Poor Illidan…

And, now, Zul'vii had a problem. Her initial instinct was to embrace the poor demonhunter in order to ease his pain… But Illidan was so proud, he might be angered by the fact that she had seen him in such weakness-

"Illidan?" she asked in her best 'groggy' voice. Whatever had made her speak? Immediately, the cupped hands closed, extinguishing the beautiful scene inside them.

"What?"

"… Nothing…"

"…"

A long pause.

"Illidan?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you for coming back."

"…What did you expect? You own the allegiance of most of my men, now."

"…"

"…"

"Missed you."

"I could tell."

"Fine, I won't say anything next time."

"…"

"How old was she then?"

"Hmm?"

"In that memory you have of her." She almost heard him stiffen.

"… It is none of your business."

"She was very beautiful…"

"… She is…"

"She does love you, you know, even though the years have made her colder… Just not the way she loves Furio-" he stood up, turned, and walked off, and she blinked, pushing back some blankets to watch him go. She could not know how deeply he pined for all that was lost… All he could never have, never experience. Of all the lost time and lost opportunity. She could not know how deep some of his inner wounds ran.

Zul'vii found Illidan sitting alone in the highest branches of one of the great trees. She gave her wings a gentle beat, gliding down beside him with a smile.

_Kill… Kill…_

He held still as she walked directly up to him and sat down slowly. The effort of flying had tired her, and she leaned back against a branch and sighed. "It's pretty up here."

_Kill…_

"Why do you insist on following me?"

"Because I get lonely on my own."

"… Selfish…"

"Many times a person seems selfish, but their intentions are altruistic at heart."

"…"

_End…_

She did not ask him questions about the scene he had conjured in his hands. Instead, she merely looked up at the beautiful moon blazing in the open sky above. "The stars are lovely tonight."

"I would not know." She shifted a bit, unsure of how to continue the conversation, and then smiled.

"The sky is very dark now, but it is not the black darkness of a cave. It is alive with color, with vibrant purple and small bunches of gold or red." He tilted his head to look at her, a puzzled expression on his face. "The stars are brilliant, each one like a single crystal suspended in midair, blazing out with hot light. They are different colors, and they waver and dance and twinkle lightly. Some are lightly blue, and others lightly red. And yet for all their singularity, they are a mesh, a freckle-pattern across the sky, stars scattered in a web and spurting out in mats and single threads. A great river of this mesh- bright with the light of a million far-off stars, is visible, like a great milky river across the sky. And then, farthest from the river, there are little clusters and lone, straying stars. Many of these are the brightest and most powerful, some of them much larger then those found in the river." He watched her for a long moment, she a bundle of energies and strands of light, with that white aura blazing so powerfully from the core of her being. Then, he turned his head, and he looked up at the empty sky above, visualizing the same brightness pouring from the heavens.

"And… the moon?"

"The moon is winking at us tonight, for she is over half dark. Only a sliver of silver is there. But she only adds to the night, and she is never, not even for a second, lost among the glow of the brilliant stars."

"No clouds?"

"Small clouds, straggling around like lost puppies. They only add to the glow of the sky- blazing with reflected light from the stars above."

"You really have a thing for sentimentalism, don't you?" She smiled.

"Well, I can't leave you brooding all the time, can I now?" He snorted. "So, what do you see?"

"Of the sky? Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Blank darkness."

"Must be boring." He grunted. "What do I look like?"

"… Like threads. Threads of different colors all bunched together. Very bright."

"You said I had an aura once."

"Yes. You are like armored threads. You aura is bright 'white' and blazes from within you like a fountain."

"And what do you look like?" He fell silent, deciding on what to say.

"Dark colors," he said finally, saying nothing about the fact that her aura filled him. "Dark violets and reds and greens."

"And Furion and Tyrande?"

"Tyrande's threads are not as bright as yours, and neither are Furion's. Tyrande's blaze silver, along with little snatches of every other color. Some parts of her have gone gray. Furion is ablaze with every color, just like you."

"Not just green?"

"Not just green. Those in tune with life seem to have more variety rather then being a solid color."

"Ah." The two were silent for a bit. "Illidan, why am I so weak right now?"

"You aided in Furion's recovery. It almost killed you." Zul'vii blinked, staring at the demon.

"Almost killed me?"

"Yes." Zul'vii tilted her head to the side.

"You were worried!" she suddenly accused. He snorted, sinking into himself and brooding darkly. "Oh come now, don't give me that look. I'm flattered." She smiled, turning and reaching over to touch his shoulder. He shrugged her off. "Oh come on, you silly thing. What's so bad about being worried? I was worried for you."

"Which is something that contributed to your illness." Zul'vii scowled

"You're too stubborn for your own good."

"And you're too soft-hearted for your own good." Zul'vii snorted, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Fine then. Next time you want to disappear, I won't worry a bit. I'll go spend time with my other friends."

"I can't imagine why you didn't do so this time."

"Hmph. As he can heal, I guess I'll just have to hang out with Furion then." Illidan bristled. "After all, everyone likes Furion. He's good and kind. He protects the forests and his people, he has no lust for power, he seeks to aid nature. Even the plants and animals like Furion, and certainly all the people do. Everyone respects and loves him, so he's a good example, especially for a fledgling healer like me- and maybe I should take up druidism too, and-" She was surprised to be grabbed suddenly. Illidan had jumped nimbly onto her branch, and he grabbed her by the shoulders, pressing her sharply into the branch she'd been leaning against.

"Shut… up…" he grit out.

"And he doesn't throw me around like a rag doll," Zul'vii hissed fiercely, triumph hidden in her eyes.

"Fine then! Be friends with Furion. Furion does get everything after all. Everyone loves the sweet, innocent, kind Furion… He is the one who imprisoned me for ten thousand years under the ground! TEN THOUSAND YEARS! Can you even _BEGIN_ to comprehend what that is like? How long a time span that is? Oh yes, sweet, innocent, kind Furion! He would have had me rot in silence for all eternity! Every last millennium of this earth! All for his and Miave's perverted sense of justice!"

"Would you have rather he killed you?"

"YES! By Elune, yes! With every fibre of my body, I had rather he had killed me!" he screamed out. "I would have killed myself had I been able! I had wished myself dead so many millions of times. Miave calls me insane- I say that is what happens when you are alone- so entirely alone for ten thousand years. You were alone for one week… Imagine that 52 times in a year… imagine that 52 times repeating over and over and over with no end!" Zul'vii fell silent, staring up at him. "Furion… has… everything…" he whispered. "He takes everything, and he sees it only as good… He took my entire sanity and my entire life," the demonhunter grit out hoarsely, his unique voice bordering the line of insanity, as always. "He took my role as leader, he took my pride, my freedom…" He shuddered, and went on, his strange, warped voice even lower then normal. "He took Tyrande…"

"Tyrande chose."

"She should have chosen _me_!"

"Because you are such a better choice? Would you pin her against a tree as well and squeeze the life out of her shoulders, forcing your opinions upon her? You seem to forget that _part _of Tyrande is _her_ pride and stubbornness. You were prideful, automatically assuming Tyrande would choose you, as if she were not a person! You were an arrogant, uncompassionate idiot, too blind to see that she was better off with Furion! At your side, Tyrande would be no more then some demon's pet right now!" She was slammed hard into the branch, stars that had nothing to do with the night sky bursting in front of her vision. But Illidan gave a violent twitch, and his hands slowly released their hold on Zul'vii. Pain welled up deep within him, pain and hollow emptiness. Because Zul'vii was right. He _was_ an arrogant, uncompassionate fiend.

Zul'vii just stared, amazed at the damage her words had wrought. "I… Illidan…"

"Always the same! You always betray me in the end! Go ahead- side with him! They all do- they always will! Kind, innocent, sweet Malfurion! Side with him against his betraying brother!"

"You idiot- you stupid, stupid, stupid idiot!" she gasped out, grabbing a handhold on his hair and yanking him to face her.

"Get away from me! Leave me to rot as he did-" he hissed out, the insanity in his unique voice reaching new levels.

"MALFURION STORMRAGE IS NOT MY BEST FRIEND. YOU ARE. NOW SHUT UP AND GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF!" Illidan gulped back a scream, staring blindly up at her.

"You said-"

"What I said was but cruel teasing- nothing more! You are my friend- not Furion! I don't even _know_ him!" Foiled, and fearing he had made a great fool of himself, Illidan shrunk backward, slowly bottling his emotions back up. She tugged him back towards her by the hair and he winced. "Do you think I was so lonely for no reason? I couldn't spend time with others because I didn't miss _them. _I missed _you_, you great big idiot. I _missed_ you!" He swallowed, taking a moment to digest her words. "My best friend," she said slowly, gently, letting go of his hair and putting her arms around his neck, pressing her temple against his cheek. "Not even ten thousand years can compare to the scant few I've had with you. I'm not going anywhere, and you aren't going to lose me." He quivered, slowly relaxing and bitter-ing up once more. He did, however, fail to regain his sarcastic personality in time, and he found himself hugging back tightly, his expression blank as he pressed his cheek against her hair.

The Scout Owl that Jaina had advised Tyrande to send perched quite some ways away, listening and watching. And the High Priestess wondered, like any good observer, what, exactly the relationship between the two powerful entities was. When Tyrande had sent her scout to spy on Illidan the night before, she had found the demonhunter cradling the young half-troll like she were his only daughter, the girl small and fragile-looking in his arms. But now… That unending wondering nagged at her again. Was it possible for Illidan to fall in love with another? Or was this relationship simply too complicated to define as any concrete type of love?

* * *

Furion roused again the day after this occurrence between Illidan and Zul'vii. Tyrande carefully fed him warm soup broth, as he was judged to be too weak to attempt to consume solid foods. He did not even bother attempting speech, sipping dutifully as the broth was tilted to his lips. With Zul'vii safely recovering in Nighthaven, and Ketala safely recovering in the Bulwark, and Furion safely recovering in the Barrow Dens, this tale truly has only one last description to be written.

* * *

Bulwark

Keever sat on his lonesome in a branch. This branch was located on a magnificent tree… And, of course, the tree was located in Viridian Reach. He perched silently, his arms wrapped around his knees, still dressed in his beautiful armor. After a long time, a hand gently touched his shoulder. He sighed, closing his eyes, and leaned against the hand. Mahi, the limb's owner, smiled lightly and knelt, wrapping her arms around her smaller champion.

_What is wrong?_ she questioned.

"The… The Half Elf…"

_Ketala found her. She takes care of the Half Elf._

"… My past haunts me…" he said after a long moment, looking at the ground.

_Why is that, little Keever? She forgave you. You should not let this plague you so…_

"It was my fault. What happened to her was my fault."

_But not your intention. While it is commendable that you take responsibility, you must realize that it was not you who so twisted the Half Elf. And, even if it had been, it was not who you are now._

Keever shuddered, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. Mahi merely smiled, pulling him tightly against her. She was in the form of an elegant tall being of pure white skin on one side of her face, and pure green on the other, with beautiful brown hair and the same, long almond wings.

_Sweet friend… Do not mourn for that which is not dead. Euquin survives under Ketala's gentle care. You did no wrong by ending her pain- in fact, you brought Ketala to her._

Keever merely shook his head, burying his helmeted face against MahiMahi. She sighed, lifting a hand and pulling off his helmet. A smile touched her lips, and she lowered her head, kissing his cheek gently. _No one blames you, my friend. Please do not blame yourself. _He looked up at her, daring to believe… slowly, Mahi's companion sighed out, relaxing against her. She chuckled softly, her beautiful almond wings wrapping around him, and she scooped him up into her arms.

"Thank you Mahi… For all you have done for me…"

_Thank you for loving me…_ He smiled softly in response, and looked up at her. At the sight of her beautiful face, he saddened. His violet tongue curled in revulsion for himself. He had not even lips to return her affection… Mahi merely tilted her head to the side and smiled again, lowering her head to press her cheek lightly against his upper lip. He stiffened, startled. _I do not mind._ She insisted. Keever held still a moment, before lifting his hands slowly to her face.

"… You are so beautiful…"

_Perhaps you are beautiful in mine eyes. _He snorted and she smiled. _You would be beautiful to a demonhunter._

"Why do you say that?"

_They see only the emanations of the soul._

"My soul is only good because you made it so."

_I can only bring a being so far. It is they who must start- I can only aid. You are good, Keever, all on your own._ He sighed. _Do you not believe me?_

"I… Do not know how to believe…" Mahi studied him a moment, seeing such reverence and love in his eyes. Then, she smiled. She lifted a hand, tilting his face upward and directly toward hers. She pushed her lips to his, closing her eyes. His eyes widened and his fingered grabbed tightly unto her robes in shock. He shuddered, his good eye closing, unsure of how to respond without a lower jaw. Mahi released after a moment and smiled, rubbing the plated armor over his back gently.

_Believe?_

"You are like a child." Mahi blinked and smiled happily.

_I am, aren't I?_

"You are playful and loving and strong… I… I am so much in your debt…" Mahi blinked and her smile faded a bit.

_But…?_

"You… You are like an ideal… A wonderful, heavenly ideal… A beacon of strength and heavenly greatness…"

… _Why is this not good?_

"… You…" He swallowed, shivering weakly. "You're _only_ a champion… A wonderful idol above us all…" She pulled back, uncertain a moment. And then, slowly, her eyes saddened. The look almost killed the poor ex apothecary.

_But I am not a person… I am the symbol and champion of a cause, and you are my crusader… But I am not a person. I am a force. A force of good. _Keever shuddered, looking down and pressing his whole body tightly against her.

"You… have been so good to me…" he murmured out weakly. "You saved me from that ruined world, trained me and strengthened me into the fighter I am now… And I _adore_ you," he whispered. "Mahi… I'm sorry…"

_My other name… is Hyjuori…_ he blinked, lifting his head and looking up at her.

"What…?"

_Trua's name is Ketala… Curiato's is Zul'vii… I am Hyjuori…_ Keever was silent a long moment. Weakly, he began to smile.

"Hy…ga… Hy…"

_Hyjuori_

"Hy… juu… orr…iii…" She nodded, gently stroking his cheek. "… What is your favorite color?"

_Brown._

"Why brown?"

_It is the color of the earth here. In places where the earth is a different color, like red, like that color best. _Keever blinked and frowned, sighing. Mahi shifted, aware of her own lack of personality. She squinted, and slowly breathed out,

_...Orange. _Keever smirked.

"Why aren't you ever something orange?" Mahi pondered for a moment, and then shrugged. Orange crackled up from the roots of her hair, spreading down its length and turning all her hair into a fiery orange shock. She smiled lightly, plucking at a strand of the hair.

_Orange…_ she said contently

"Yes, orange. What texture of hair do you like the best?" At the end of the day, Keever had turned Mahi into a most beautiful and radiant being of the strangest appearance. Her light orange hair was a spiky mane and turned light blue at the tips. She had a unicorn horn, long bluejay wings, a few massive octopus tentacles, a lion head, and the tail of a whale. She was giggling all the while, and she added some more silly features to make him laugh. Mahi might have had a very recessive personality, but she was certainly willing to fight to find her unique features for Keever.

And so it happened that each individual healed.

* * *

Mulgore

The unicorn child giggled, dancing along the stones that rose from the river. Cairne chuckled, standing protectively midway into the river, the waters almost still against his legs. He leaned upon his massive totem, watching the little girl nimbly dance across the stones and halt at the other side, giggling up at him. He smiled, reaching over a massive hand and gently brushing her cheek.

"Come now little one." She nodded, reaching up and wrapping the whole of her tiny hand around the tip of a single one of his fingers. Her digits did not even make it all the way around his single finger. He smiled lightly, and continued walking. His desire to move slowly was not usurped. The little girl at his side could half run and still not outdistance his massive stride. Ahead of them was Bloodhoof village, as peaceful as ThunderBluff itself. Named after Cairne, himself, and after the village's leader, Cairne's son, Bane, the town happened to be the location that the great Kodos were bred, caught, tamed, and trained at. Cairne was here for such a lizard, as he had reason to travel north to Ashenvale. He reached over with one hand, gently patted the silvery-white child on the head, and led the cheerful girl into the town. He had all the time in the world.

* * *

Please Review! I love you all!

Oh, and hopefully the next chapter will be able to withstand some action. I haven't written it yet, but love can only last so long... (Don't worry, we'll get back to love some day...)


	23. Shifting Times and Wrapping Up

First, I shall post a disclaimer. During the course of this chapter, I was forced to begin reading _The Last of the Mohecans. _Because of this, the end few pages of this work have required an Olde English twist. I appologize for this, and if you find it confusing, merely let me know and I shall make another short walkthrough for it. It did make very nicely for a prissy Scarlet Crusade Priestess, however, which was nice. **This chapter is strange**. It does not follow my normal writing style at all, because my head has been suffocated with Shakespearean-styled literature. If this chapter displeases you, do not give up on me! With luck, the writing style shall revert to normal after this.

This chapter is designed to be a sort of fill-in, so that we can get back to the plot of this story. Its telling you how the times are changing, how wars are faring, and whose claiming what land. **Its a wrap up chapter.** It wraps up the romance for a time being, it wraps up Ketala's predicament, it wraps up the aftermath of the battle, and it wraps up Theramore's current political position with the world.

And i only got ONE REVIEW Last time! What's with that? Is it because I did not yell Yarg at you? Did you miss the Yarging? Did you not like how I responded to people in my last post? Please review! If Yeth had not so graciously done so, I do believe I would not have posted this chapter, and that would make me sad, for I do love this story...

So please review! It makes the author so happy to get reviews,evenif they critisize her olde english. If I deserve the time spent to read this rediculously long fanfiction, please let me know how satisfying you found it!I love you all!

**So Review or I shall not Update! Yarg!**

No really, i do love you all:) I am so happy that some people like or praise or critisize or help my story.

And why is it no one has commented on the relationship between Illidan and Zul'vii? Is that the problem? Are you upset at my Fangirlish flare? My Goodness, they've never even kissed! Have I distressed you in some way? Please review :(

* * *

**Shifting Time**

* * *

Moonglade

Tyrande shivered softly in her sleep, despite how warm the area she was in was. She quivered and made a small noise. A tender arm wrapped around her back, shielding out the nightmares that plagued her. A hand caressed her cheek, stilling her trembling. Slowly, slowly, she calmed, and her eyes flicked open. The druids had left as Malfurion's recovered had sped up, in order to give Tyrande some privacy with her beloved. Now a much healthier shade of violet, Furion smiled up at her, gently stroking her cheek and hairline.

"There… are you alright, love?"

"Are you?" she murmured back, returning similar affection to the Archdruid. He nodded solemnly, and she embraced him tightly, pulling his weakened form against her and half cradling the man she loved. One of his massive antlers brushed her cheek and he sighed softly, embracing her in return.

"Tyrande…"

"You were so still… We were so worried- they couldn't find you…"

"I know, Tyrande… I know… Forgive me …" He leaned back, shifting her position so that it was he who cradled her. She did not protest; lying against him as she listened to his heart beat within his breast, her cheek against his warm skin.

They spoke of little things for a long time, each one reassuring themselves and one another that they were, at last, together again.

"I am sorry love… I had… I had to go deep within…"

At last, Furion referenced the Emerald dream and his disappearance.

"Deeper then I have ever gone before. There were things I needed to accomplish that elude my mind at the moment… I am so glad to be back in your arms…"

"And I, yours."

"I thought I had lost my way back. The trip took a toll on my power and mind. I fought to return to my body, and yet, at every turn, the threads of life seemed to slip away." His brow furrowed as he concentrated. "Yet… suddenly… The threads strengthened. A great, great piece of life stretched out. I seized it… And the next thing I knew, I had returned to my body… With that little effort…"

"That… That was Zul'vii," Tyrande murmured after a moment.

"Whom?"

"Zul'vii… It is a long story. The Mahi is here." Furion blinked and nodded.

"I knew that much. I believe I helped orchestrate her arrival." Tyrande blinked, looking at Malfurion a moment. Then she nodded.

"There are two other angelic beings as well, like the Mahi. She calls them Trua and Curiato. Zul'vii is a half troll, half elf. She is also the angel Mahi titles 'Curiato'. She is a rogue, and slipped past the guards for some reason and… to my knowledge, healed you. Perhaps that spike of healing was the life you felt, because you immediately woke." Furion nodded, deep in thought.

"There is another thing, Malfurion…" she murmured after a long time.

"Yes, love?"

"… Your brother is here, in the Moonglade." Furion stiffened, staring down at Tyrande with some confusion.

"What…? Surely it is not because of my affliction…"

"No… Though when he learned that you were lost in the Emerald Dream, he did not seem overly delighted."

"Probably because he knows you would not turn to him if I did die… And thus you would simply be miserable."

"Possibly."

"But then why is he here?" Tyrande smiled wryly at this one.

"He is friends with Zul'vii." Furion blinked, lifting a brow.

"That is… unusual, to say the least. Aren't they a bit like polar opposites…?"

"Oh yes. And you should see them bicker… It is actually quite amusing. They yell at each other over the most meaningless things." She sighed softly. "So much has happened since you first slept. I believe we shall have to take a few days just to tell you about it, and a few more to show you what we cannot say." He chuckled lightly, leaning his cheek against the top of her head.

"That, we must," he agreed, and he closed his eyes and slept again.

When he awoke, Tyrande had returned to her post kneeling at the side of his bed, and she was fast asleep. He smiled at her, leaning over and gently kissing the corner of her lips. Sweet Tyrande. Her long vigil had not hardened everything about her. If anything, perhaps his slumber helped her as well. He had noticed that, when she smiled, the joy finally reached her eyes again. He had slept awhile. Longer then he had meant to in recovery… But it was so sweet to be at the side of his beloved, with no burdens of the world to laden their shoulders. Still, this could not last forever. They would have to return to their posts of leadership. He sat up very slowly, stretching himself out and feeling for aches or pains. His legs barely supported him when he stood, but at last they hardened. The first steps tested him, but the steps that followed fell easily into place. He would be fine. The druid guards at the entrance of the Barrow Dens hailed him with true pleasure, but he insisted he did not need an escort. Instead, he made his way across the forest to be alone in the tranquil paradise that encompassed most of the Moonglade. It was one of the few places left on earth where no corruption or hostility had seeped in, and the trees were free and pleasant in their moods. Voices disturbed his thoughts. How queer that, out of all the forest, he would stumble upon other beings in this tranquil paradise. One voice spoke, and he blinked, tilting his head to the side. Illidan? Hmm. Perhaps this would be the time to investigate what Tyrande had said about his brother.

Or would that be unwise? Furion was, after all, quite weak from his ordeal. But, then again, he was in the middle of a forest that would rather burn then see harm come to any druid. He doubted he had much to fear from Illidan. As he walked, the massive amount of trees stopped and opened up into a hilly glade where the sky above was acutely visible. Immediately ahead of him, one figure sat and another lay down. The one sitting was evidently the half-troll. She was tall and dressed primarily in rogue leather, her cyan, brown, and green hair spilling around her. Her skin color was hard to determine in the night sky, but it appeared to be greenish. Beside her, the figure was Nightelf. Unmistakably, it was Illidan. The long violet wings, demonhunter dress, and 10 foot tall size gave him away without much resistance. As Furion entered the clearing, Zul'vii turned to look at him and smiled.

"Good evening," she said quite simply. Furion blinked, silent a moment. Then he came up to the two.

"You have good hearing."

"Actually, that trait should be accredited to this fellow," and she patted her Illidan on the shoulder. "He heard you insisting to the Nightelf druids you didn't need an entourage." Furion blinked with surprise, but Illidan merely grumbled, shoving Zul'vii's hand away.

"I am told I owe my life to you…"

"Ah, it's nothing new. Trust me, you can just write the payment off as one 'thank you'." Furion blinked.

"You ask for very little for a great service…"

"I've learned my lesson about life debts. I've already got a Stormrage following me around." She grinned, turning her head and looking up at the stars.

"You know what the stars are, Illidan?" she asked, returning to whatever conversation Furion had interrupted.

"Pray tell," he said, sounding entirely annoyed.

"Suns." Illidan turned his head to look back at her. "They're suns. You know how when things are far away, they look smaller then they really are?"

"… Yes…"

"Well, the sun and the moon are quite far away, so they look tiny. In actuality, the sun is huge, bigger then our whole world."

"Oh?"

"Mhmm. And all those tiny stars out there are suns, only so far away we can barely see them. And each one of those suns has a planet or more."

"How do you know?"

"Mag told me. Course he also told me things about the moon Night Elves wouldn't like."

"Like what?" She paused, sighing out after a moment.

"The moon is a sphere of rock. Our planet spins and moves around the sun. The spinning turns us towards or away from the sun and makes day and night, and the spinning around the sun makes the seasons." Whether he believed her or not, he listened. "The moon spins around the earth, and is much smaller. It rotates around its middle point at the same speed that it goes around the earth, so one side is always facing us, and one side is always facing away. The moon reflects light from the sun. That is how we see it. When the moon goes 'dark', it's not because part of the moon vanishes, but because that part of the moon isn't reflecting any light. The moon is always there- all of it is always there. There is no life on the moon. It is a silvery, barren landscape."

"So you believe Elune is a myth?" Illidan asked softly.

"Oh, I don't know. There has to be something up there that gives Tyrande strength, something that hears her prayers and gifts her with power. I'm just not sure it's what she thinks it is. Or, if it is the same thing, it isn't _the _moon. The moon might be a symbol, but the moon isn't a god, it's a rock. Speaking of gods, you've met one, haven't you? Cenarius. Only he was a demigod. So no, I don't think Elune is a myth."

"And what of the God Mahi worships?" Zul'vii smirked lightly. "Seems like a remote and uncared for figure to be saving an entire world."

"Who's to say Mahi's god isn't Elune? And The Light? And the Earthmother? Who's to say Mahi's god isn't all the good in the world? We talk about how demons plague the land all the time, but our deities and ideals hold true against them. It takes effort to notice the good and not simply see the evil which sticks out so vividly." Illidan fell silent. "Maybe Mahi's god is actually all that good that triumphs against evil time and time again."

"What did your mother worship?"

"No idea." She paused, her eyes getting a far off look. "She tells me she's not saying. Zul'jin's arguing with her right now."

"Don't bother telling me how that turns out," he muttered. She laughed, giving him a little shove. Slowly, he pushed himself up, getting up on his feet and turning to look at Furion, whom had not left yet.

"Have a nice sleep?" he inquired, speaking to his brother for the first time.

"No, actually."

"Tyrande and the others worried that waking up itself would kill you."

"Well, I am fine now."

"I hope it pleases you that your survival nearly killed your savior," he continued sweetly. Furion blinked and fell silent, his mouth forming a grim line.

"Augh, Illidan, leave him alone," Zul'vii said with a bit of a sigh, standing up after him. "I'm fine now, aren't I? And it was more or less my fault for helping him when I was so weak. There was no way he could have known that I was hurting myself by trying to help him, and, honestly, _he'd _probably be dead now if I hadn't helped. Since we're both alive right now, I see we must have all made the right choices. Besides, now you get to gloat about saving me." Illidan snorted, his face growing impassive and dark. Zul'vii glanced at him and shook her head.

"Now you're just being ridiculous. Come on, let us leave the Archdruid to his trees." She took Illidan's hand and attempted to tug him away, but the demon hunter held still, glaring blindly down at Malfurion Stormrage. It was evident, from the first, that the brother's first meeting would not be a peaceful one, but Zul'vii was a stubborn being. She released Illidan's hand and glared up at the demon hunter with a look that almost said 'I hate you' and turned, stalking off. Whether Illidan noticed or not, he paid no heed to Zul'vii, and simply stared his brother down.

"Illidan. Last time we parted, we did so in truce. I would not want to be the cause of that uneasy peace breaking." The demon hunter merely sneered.

"A pity that you have."

"Tyrande would have me understand that Zul'vii is your friend. I assure you, I have not, nor will I ever mean her harm. I owe her now, for what she has done for me." That, unfortunately, was not the statement Illidan wanted to hear. He was blinded with pains and jealousies, and blazing hot spike of white aura Zul'vii had left in Furion did nothing to ease his jealousy or the blame he laid upon his brother. Too far consumed by anger, he had almost forgotten the original source of the 'argument', and was entirely oblivious to the fact that Zul'vii herself had just glared at him with extreme disapproval.

"Stay away from her," he hissed out darkly. "Far, far away." A scream broke both men out of their argumentive trance. Immediately, Illidan gasped and charged past Furion. Wings shot him into the air, and he dove between trees, speeding ahead. He saw Zul'vii's body jerk as a second arrow thudded into her. Her axes were in her hands, and evidence of several intermediate arrows lay scattered around her in scattered fragments. So strong… and so fast…

_Kill._

It took little effort- surprisingly- for magic to burst through him. A typhoon of energy burst from the ground beneath the Nightelf that had shot her, ripping him apart and burning him, scattered splatters of his destroyed body across the landscape in black and purple chunks.

_Kill… Kill…! _

He caught her as she fell, his violet-black wings catching the air and beating powerfully to stop his forward momentum. Cradling her against him with one arm, he wrenched the arrows from her body with the other. She jerked, eyes wide, as the arrows came out, nestled in the crook of his arm.

_KILL._

"Zul'vii?" he whispered, face drawn an alarmed. "Zul'vii, look at me!" he gasped, pressing his palm against the two arrow wounds and successfully stopping the blood flow. She obeyed, her whitish, green-orange lizard eyes look up at him, and she mouthed a single syllable: "Ow." He choked back his fear, shoving his cheek against hers, shaking lightly. Under his hand, troll and angelic regeneration easily took care of the wounds and blood loss. After a moment, he felt a hand gently cup around his cheek and ear, holding his cheek against her. "That was my fault… wasn't it?"

"Somewhat."

"I'm sorry…"

"It's alright. I'm fine." He nodded against her.

"… Unfortunately, you're a bit more to blame for the scattered chunks of purple currently littering the ground."

_FURY! KILL!_

"HE SHOT YOU!"

"And I am alive right now, and he is not. He was an idiot- idiocy does not deserve murder."

"He would have killed you- He was notching a third arrow!"

"But he didn't. Illidan, you did a very, very bad thing. Furion allowed you to return on the basis that you would bring no more harm to his people."

_FURY! ANGER! STUPID- KILL!_

"So I am not allowed self defense!" Unconsciously, the fingers of one hand inched towards the war blades he had dropped on the way to Zul'vii aid.

"That wasn't self defense, or even defense of me. You could have knocked him unconscious with ease. That was _fury_." She wrapped one arm around the opposite side of his face, and pushed his head in front of hers.

_NO! KILL!_

"He deserved it."

"Oh? And were I to meet another demon hunter as powerful as you, and to accidentally harm his friend, would you want to see me like this fellow?" She turned his head, forcing him to look at the chunks of meat. "Would you like Tyrande to have looked like that if she had been the one who'd shot someone?" His whole body stiffened.

_Kill! Ki-_

"That's a bit too much like Miaev if you ask me. Do you know she can call on the spirit of 'Vengance'?" He fell silent, clutching her tighter. "Illidan, what was between you and Furion should be settled… Stop fighting… Please, stop fighting. Stop doing these things… They leave you further alone…"

"But you-"

"I'm okay. You took care of me both times, and I'm okay." He twitched violently, wrapping both his arms tightly around her. "You don't need to kill anyone. Just stop them…"

_No… kill…_

"ILLIDAN!" Furion's voice broke the moment of understanding between them. "Illidan- look what you've… How could you do such a thing!"

_KILL HIM!_

"He did it to protect me, Malfurion," Zul'vii murmured. "The Night Elf shot me repeatedly. Knowing I was a troll, he was probably aiming for my head- and damage to that could have been fatal, even for a troll."

"… Illidan, you should not have done this…" she felt his arms reflexively tighten, and she lifted a hand to stroke his hair.

"It's alright, Illidan," she almost breathed, she was so quiet.

"Furion, violence is forbidden in the Moonglade accept in defense, is it not?" she said aloud.

"Well… yes… but…"

"Then Illidan's only crime was due to countering another crime quickly enough to save a life, and overacting in response. I do not think he is blamable for that."

_Kill him… Kill him…_

"…" Furion lifted his head from the carnage, noting at how Illidan would not speak- only hold onto Zul'vii. He stiffened, seeing the intimacy of that embrace, how their faces half touched and reassuring caresses passed between them. By Cenarius- could Illidan…?

"Forgive me." At that, Furion's lips parted in pure, unadulterated awe. "I acted wrongly." Never, never, not in ten thousand years, had Furion heard or expected to hear those words. This situation was far more complicated then he could hope to understand in one setting, with his mind and body as weakened as they were. The apology was not to him- no, but it was to Zul'vii, and it was for this horrible misdeed. The sheer idea that Illidan could recognize and feel any grief what-so-ever for a crime… It was overwhelming.

There was more at work here then the Archdruid could see, and he backed up slowly. Never, not in all Illidan's life, had Furion heard such words from his twin. Perhaps there was merit to forgiving the demon hunter after all. But now he needed Tyrande's council, to figure out what, exactly, had happened to his brother in such short a time to make the demon hunter finally admit such things.

He left the two alone without a word. It was best that way. It was not like either one of them was even aware he was there anymore.

_End…_

_Kill…_

…

_**No**._

…

… …

No more torn wishes or longings. No more. No more struggle. One directive, one purpose, one final goal…

* * *

The Bulwark

Ketala laid silently on her side, one hand gently stroking the shoulder of the ghoul. It was perched loyally beside her, like one of Nathanos's precious hounds. Like Eldiaren and Jerod before it, it was male. His name was Lachdan, and the taint of the plague was not strong in him. He was silent, occasionally leaning over to rub his cheek affectionately against Ketala's. After some time, he turned his head swiftly. In unison, he and Thrash growled, warning some unseen person not to come to close. Ketala shifted, slowly lifting her head. Gydrion stood there, weaving slightly from the alcohol in his system. He was evidently in depressing straights, as he was a devoted, respectable Elder Priest of the Silver Hand, and he was currently completely and entirely drunk. Ketala cocked her head to the side, watching as the priest stepped unsteadily towards her.

"Ket…" he mumbled as Thrash's growl subsided.

"Gydrion…?" she asked wearily. "What is it…?" He sighed out, the sword he'd been dragging clattering to the ground with a dull metallic thud.

"Ketala… Why? Why him? He's a monster…"

"Lachdan is not-"

"The lich!" Gydrion hissed out forcibly through the alcohol.

"… Kel'Thuzad?"

"You let him near… You are comforted by him…"

"And?"

"And why aren't you comforted by me…?" Ketala slowly pulled herself up to her feet. She walked over to the priest, taking his slender face in both her hands. His glazed eyes looked down at her, and he shuddered. His slap-dashed composure dissolved into mush, and he groaned, sobbing weakly, dropping to his knees. Ketala released him, too weak and sad already to know what to do with the Priest. She could not even understand the cause of his distress. It was irrational for a person with as much self control as Gydrion to _become_ drunk, much less to be so upset over such a simple thing as this. She backed up from him, unable to deal with this problem.

"Gydrion… Go home…" In the end, she led him back to his tent, supporting his stumbling form. And that was the end. They did not speak again.

* * *

(Cont.)

A scrape followed a clash. A small peppering of cracks and snaps. A small exclamation of laughter. Ketala's suffering had been laid to rest. She was currently organizing a few ghouls into formation, repeating the drills that had been imbedded into their minds long ago. These were paladins, crusaders of light. They had been trained by Ander himself, just as she had been. Their hands knew the sword and hammer better then one might think possible. Blades clashed as they broke up into partners. They repeated moves and strategies that they had practiced countless times before. Their minds worked to remember more, and, in that way, they broke free of the restraints of death.

Ketala's new favorite, Lachdan, heir to Jerod and Eldiaren before him, stood before his savior now. His blade was at the ready, and he strode forward to strike a parried blow. The battle between the ghouls was one of pleasantry. Now and again, they would accidentally hit one another, but this devastated them more then anything, and so they were careful not to. Luckily, they all happened to be undead, and the damage done was negligible, especially due to undead regeneration. Ketala alone risked deformation by means of the blade, but she possessed enough skill to fight their ghosts of swordplay blindfolded and deaf. Her scimitar slid gracefully over the edge of Lachdan's blade, turned, and half 'hooked' his blade. With a quick snap, she shoved the ghoul's arm backwards, and with her other blade gently prodded the ghoul between the ribs.

_Faster, friend!_ she urged, a smile on her face. Lodan could often be found helping her, or simply standing nearby to ensure she was alright. Euquin, on the other hand, was more often then not found in the Viridian Reach. What she did there was a mystery to all but Ketala, and it constituted mostly of thinking and remembering. Euquin was a bit lost in memories.

* * *

The Eastern Plaguelands, Corin's Crossing

Blades hacked through undead flesh. The elegant curve of a scimitar glided effortlessly through the air. It crossed delicately over the robes of a necromancer, flicking past the human's robes without effort. As it left, the robes split and puckered, the hairline cut below the robes opened, and the necromancer's life's blood spilt out unto the cold, lifeless ground. Arthas hid on his island. While Ketala possessed the minds of many of his minions, her turning and possession of so many undead forces at the last great battle had nearly destroyed her, and she had to concede to the logic that if she attempted such a stunt again, it would likely kill her. If she died, as it was reasoned, all undead under her sheltering wings would be doomed to damnation and death. So her enemy hid, conserving his losses and drawing all his forces back to Northrend, where he could at least hope that the effort of sending her mind such distances, without alerting him to her presence, would be more then she would risk.

Of course, Ketala knew her enemy was not idle. Somehow, some way, Arthas would find a way to bypass her mental gift. This meant that full opportunity needed to be seized now. So she, as soon as she had recovered from the trauma of Jerod's death, could be found crossing the countryside. Her elegant mount bounded silently across the wasted world, and her blade culled every practitioner of the Dark Arts that she could find. The Cult of the Dead was rent asunder under her elegant scimitars. Those that did make it to the ocean were often routed by Nightelfin and Human ships.

In fact, had the whole world united against Arthas then and there, he would have been wiped from existence, his reign ended. The threat of the undead menace would have evaporated all together. Sadly, this was not to be. In their own ways, each race contributed more heavily to the press against the undead of Northrend. The Humans, seeing the Forsaken as simply an offshoot race from the main Scourge body, sent attack after attack pounding down on the Undercity. Alliances across the globe sprung traps, and the world plunged deeper into the war it had been trying so hard to pull out of.

Dark shadows lurked in the trees, and pits of demonic resistance refused to be put down. With enemies all around, and hatred burning in every heart, it was quite easy to forget the greater picture. It was quite easy to forget that all creatures shared the same earth, and that it was all of Azeroth that the demonic forces threaten. To each individual town, the demonic movements were minimal. Had someone the presence of mind to collect all these records of movement, they would have concluded that the very earth festered with demonic taint.

They would not have been mistaken.

But all was not lost. The distraction fleet that Jaina Proudmoore had hurried, via magic, to Northrend after Tyrande's small three ship lure had turned south. Instead of returning to Kalimdor's shores, it had instead made its way to the side of the Eastern Kingdoms and blown all signs of undead life out of the cost. Ships and docks alike were burnt and shattered. It cost Theramore a fortune in missed trading opporotunities, but it saved her entire land from war. Because all the pugnatious (desirous of fighting) youths in her land were currently off seeking vengance on the Scourge, no conflicts occured between her island and the Horde. Though many of Arthas's forests escaped, a large bulk was trapped in the Plaguelands, which only the Scarlet Crusade, The Forsaken, And Ketala herself fought over for possession. As all races took part in the conflict, one would think that all races would want a part of the reward. The truth was, however, was that no one wanted the Plaguelands. The ghosts that swept the countryside, and the ungodly screams that whipped the air at night, drove all living inhabitants from it as quickly as they could run. The Scarlet Crusade and Argent Dawn alone had settled there, and that was solely for the purpose of purging the world of the undead menace.

Now that the ranks of the Scourge had been thinned, raids under the red flag of passion increased. Seeing that the Forsaken bore no marks of hardship caused the Crusadeto target their raids on the Scourge. It seemed to be their goal to wipe out all traces of the Scourge, and to claim more land in order that they might further spread their spiteful religion. While this was good for Sylvanis in ways, it also caused far more clashes.This was simply because of the varying forces that sought possession of the Plaguelands. They did not fight over the Viridan Reach. Any being but Ketala and her undead who attempted to enter the woods, if they possessed weapons, would be promptly picked up by the trees and thrown away. The Scarlet crusade weren't sure what to make of this, and, rather then condemning the beautiful forest as a ghost-infested hell-hole, they saw the lighter side of things for a change and found them an excellent place to pray and find sanctuary. The fact that the forest refused to be fodder for their lumber mills was never raised as an issue.

Ketala, herself, scoured the wilderness for the Cult of the Damned, the Dead, the Death, and the Dark Arts (Whichever name it had decided to adopt for that region). She slew them, knowing them to be the source and direction of the undead swarms. Though Arthas still technically 'held' much of the Plaguelands, Ketala's arm was long. The Cult fell in Plaguewood, a misnomer, for it contained no trees. They fell around Strathelome and Scholomance. A few times, her blades reached into these fountains of evil, purging everything in sight. Her forces had made their way south of the Viridan Reach into the ruins of Andorhal. With her accompaniment, they had plunged into the ruins, absorbing what undead they could into their ensemble. While there, they again clashed with the Scarlet Crusade, and mercilessly swept through their small detachment, until they at last possessed all of Andorhal. They now claimed the dead city as their own. What few Naga had been left behind found refuge in the water around Andorhal, and purified it to the best of their ability.

But to return to Ketala. She was currently in Corin's Crossing, dutifully taking out a necromancer. The man slumped backwards as she carved effortlessly through the strangely-even-more-mindless-abomination that accompanied them. The others of the Cult backed up, summoning skeletons and sending them charging at her. She bashed through them effortlessly with the blades and flats of her beloved scimitars. The wizard's fragile bodies yeilded easily under the curve of her sword. When everynecromancer had been transformed into a corpse but one,Ketala turned to the single Necromancer she had spared, holding the point of her blade against the wizard's chest.

_Would you prefer to die?_ she asked mentally.

"Kill me! It does not matter. I shall go to my king in undeath!" She lifted a hand, blazing holy flame erupting from her palm. The firm, fanatical resolve of the undead paled a bit inn the light of the flame.

_I will cut you, and I will slice you into small, tiny chunks. Bone, and marrow, and all organ tissue shall be strewn about in an order that no necromancer will ever find useful. And then I will burn you, and holy flame shall purge your tattered fragments and leave them entirely useless, and hammer your spirit to senselessness with holy flame till it abandons this world altogether._

"You bluff. You cannot harm the spiritual-" His eyes went wide as holy flame burst from behind her, consuming the corpses of those she had killed. Their spirits, like small, hardly perceptible blips in his trained sight, lifted and turn golden, pulling away from the world entirely, and the fragments of their body burnt away. At last there was no corpse and no soul to steal. Like the King of Lorderon before them, they were cremated and made nothing, and no force of that world could have bound said spirit back into that ash. Like so many of the Cult of the Damned before that, Ketala ensured their ghosts would not be waiting around for Arthas to reanimate. The Necromancer's eyes went wide, and it shuddered, staring up at her. Power swam around his fingertips, and Ketala felt a skeleton rise behind her. Her eyes flash, and one scimitar spun to break the skeleton asunder. The other plunged deep into the chest of the necromancer. She made good her promise, and there was nothing left of the necromancer but debris when she was done. A cry of pain caused her to lift her head, and she walked back over to the place she had first surprised the necromancers. When she had first encountered the wizards, they had been using chunks of revolting, rotten flesh to piece together some abominable creature on the ground.

Now, that pile moved, and some flesh was shoved from the pile. Beneath the gore, a human female shuddered in terror, trying to push it all away from her. Immediately, Ketala was at her side, pulling the rotten flesh from around her. Worms had already burrowed from the meat through the female's red clothes and into her skin, and Ketala took care to rip them all out. The sight of these bizarre and horrendous insects, burrowing inside her own flesh, caused the human to scream and frantically send streams of weak holy magic at them. Ketala took the female's hands, pushing them to the ground, and she knelt on them to keep the human from moving. She then proceeded to rip the rest of the meat from the female, extracting the worms as each one came. When she was done, she touched her fingers gently to the woman's ribcage. Holy energy poured into her, and those few worms that had escaped into the humans body, causing the female to twitch, and squirm, and cry in desperation, writhed back out of her, fried and dying as they left her body. With this finished, Ketala scooped up the Human female and carried her some distance from the worms, setting her back down again. She convulsed, clutching Ketala's armor a moment. After a second, she looked up at Ketala, and beheld, through the grayish hood of her cloak, the helmet of a paladin of the Silver Hand.

"It is alright," Ketala murmured, patting the Human reassuringly on the shoulder.

"What- Oh by the Light, what did they do to me!"

"They did not do anything, though they did attempt. I am not certain, but, then again, the Cult of the Damned always experiments. The worms are out of you, and I sense none of the undead poison in your body. You should be fine." The woman choked and nodded weakly, clutching herself reflexively and shuddering as she felt the holes the many worms had made.

"Oh Light… Oh Light…" she whispered over and over again.

"It's alright. You are safe now."

"Safe! Safe, we are in the middle of an undead infested wilderness- and my comrades… My… Oh Light… They are dead…"

"There is no monster in this land that has defeated me yet, and I have slain those that have tried. As for your party, I assure you they are not currently undead roving the wilderness. I have put them to rest, and they shall sleep in peace, now." The woman looked up at her and clutched at Ketala's arms again.

"Then I owe you more then you know! Please, what is your name? In a place so vile and overrun with evil, I would know the name of one good soul!"

"My name is Ket. Ketala Truae. Now, get a hold on yourself. You have been through much, but you need to calm down."

"I… Yes… I must get back to Tyr's Hand and report what has happened," the woman reflected, slowly standing up." Her manner was of one who was blind with their convictions, and her every word issued forth with a passionate fervor that did not transfer over to Ketala. "Thank you. Perhaps the Silver Hand is not so fallen, if its paladins are like you."

"You will be hard pressed to find a Paladin like me, priest," she said with a light smile. The woman blinked and looked discouraged at Ketala.

"No? It is sad to see those who claim to worship the light fall so low… But then, have you left your order? Perhaps you seek to join the Scarlet Crusade?"

"No, milady. I do not desire to bring scarlet bloodshed to every location I visit- only against those whom I cannot convince to befriend me, or those whom would slaughter innocents without a second thought." The woman blinked, frowning, trying to decide who had the better theory. "The Silver Hand is much the same way, and I am not so different in them from that aspect. What I mean is, is that I am neither human nor dwarf, and, thus, I am not like them in that fashion."

"But then what are you? Elf?" she asked curiously, looking up and down the figure of her rescuer as if a clue would present itself.

"No, milady. I am undead. And we are generally not of a mindset blessed enough for the Holy Light to come to our aid." The woman pulled back, staring at Ketala in shock.

"Paladin, this does not seem the time for jests." Ketala merely sighed, and lifted her hands to her helmet. Slowly, she unlatched it and pulled it off. The Priest's eyes opened in horror as she saw Ketala's whirling eyes- now bright green with amusement- and pale, almost lifeless flesh. She gasped out, holy fire forming in her hands, but Ketala merely laughed. "Holy energy affects me as it would any human, Priest. Now, let us get you to Tyr's hand." And with that, she seized the woman's arm, and proceeded to drag her back to the human fortress. She received a few _Smites_ for her effort, but they did not even bite into the upper layer of her armor. The Priest was too weak, and Ketala was too strong in the Light for such a thing to harm her. As They neared Tyr's Hand, Ketala released the woman's arm and the Priest, who had been straining against the Paladin, promptly fell flat on her face. She didn't move, utterly humiliated, and Ketala had to pluck her off the ground and set her on her feet again.

"Here we are, Priest. You see I have kept my word. I simply understood that I would never be able to convince you of my good intentions, and with night will come even more horrors that I might not have been able to protect you from. You are weary and weakened, and Tyr's Hand is just steps away.'

"How do I know this isn't some illusion or trick?"

"Woman, you can't even get a _Smite_ to do anything more then shine my armor. I doubt that, if I really wanted to do anything sinisterly evil with you, you could do a thing to stop me." The Priest blushed furiously, but when Ketala left her and headed off back into the wilderness of the Plaguelands, she turned and headed up to Tyr's hand. It was no illusion that had brought her there.

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Western Plaguelands, South of Andorhal

High Priest Thel'danis, guardian of the Tomb of Uther Lightbringer,stared at the undead he had been fighting, watching it suddenly freeze up and look around wildly. His own _Smite_ cleaved through it, and it fell, bursting into white-hot flame on the ground. He lifted his eyes, staring around at all the other undead which had decided to assault Uther's Tomb. All of them were still and silent for the longest moment, looking at one point- the bridge to Andorhal. Fearing some new devilry, Thel'danis turned his attention to the bridge. Surprisingly, all he beheld was Gydrion's apprentice. The female waved a hello to him, urging her panther forward at a light trot. She walked passed the undead as if they weren't even there, despite the fact that their eyes followed her as she went.

"Thel'danis!" she hailed. "I trust Uther is still where he belong, and not a trace of taint has crept into his bed?" The Priest frowned, but nodded slowly.

"The tomb is untouched." She nodded, pulling off her helmet and grinning up at him.

"Yes, well, before you start jumping to conclusions, no I am not some Scourge commander come to plague you further. I actually came to bring you tidings of the outside world." She stopped her panther as she neared him and dismounted, looking at the undead he had cleaved in half and burnt to rubble. "We had a nice big battle. As in I managed to trick Kel'Thuzad into launching an all-out assault."

"And the result?" Ketala grinned fiercely.

"We won, of course. But not without reason. The Scourge are now scattered throughout the Plaguelands, and Arthas hides in Northrend seeking some way to combat that which foiled his attack so nicely."

"And what caused you to win?" Ketala smiled lightly, and turned to one of the skeletal warriors. It came up to her. She shifted her gaze behind her, and, in unison, ghosts and skeletal warriors clustered around her, all strangely silent and un-hostile. The High Priest's eyes opened wide.

"It cannot be- you _are _Scourge!"

"I am not," she insisted, holy flame forming in her hand. "My undead pushed through Andorhal, slaughtering or absorbing all of Arthas's miscreants in their paths. They reside there now. I have the power to touch things mentally, and I strive to free them from the horrors done unto them by Ner'zhul's necromancers. With luck, they will end up Forsaken with the wills and hearts of humans. With luck. I simply want you to know that Uther's tomb should be unplagued by death from now on. I will personally see to the safety of the land around it." She turned her head, looking down at the grass that clung to the earth in thick green around Uther's tomb and nowhere else. "And perhaps the life we stand on now will spread…" She smirked back up at Thel'danis, gave a light salute, and turned, heading back off. Every skeleton, and every ghost, followed her. The eyes of the High Priest did as well, and he shook his head in disbelief. The world truly was one of heroism...

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**Review or I shall not update! Yarg!**

Well, that wrapped up some things. Why did I include a Scarlet Crusade Priest? Because she's going to become a main charecter, of course! Hopefully, the beggining of this chapter was romantic enough to get you through the wrap up that was the second part. The next chapter shall Finally escape the romances, as Illidan's confrontation with Zul'vii today is as far as that's going at the moment. The plot shall begin to move once again, and our charecters will gain a direction to move in. Right now they're kinda just there, with no apparent point.(There is a point, its just not apparent)

I love you all!


	24. A Year and the Quiet Before the Storm

**Review or I shall not Update! Yarg!**

Yay! 3 reviews! That is the summons for an update! I am so glad and happy inside!

Well, here we go, another middle of the story chapter. And you might think "Pah! What does the middle of the Story matter?" But, indeed, it matters very much, and should not be disregarded as the delectable cream filling that it appears to be.

Oh darn it, more Shakesperian fluff. I sigh at you. Oh well, if only I could finish this darned book...

Please read the end of story rant for some specific Reviewing begging! If you do not review, I do not know what you like! Let me know the quality of what I have labored to write for you!

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**A Year and A Quiet Before the Storm**

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The City of Andorhal. At least... Most of the Time, in the City of Andorhal. Or around it. Or the Eastern Plaguelands... Or the Undercity... Oh for Goodness sake, just read the Story!

The City of Andorhal was a strange place. A person may argue as much as their heart desires that their choice of residence is the strangest, but oftener then not that person would concede to the revelation that Andorhal capped them in rank of strangeism. Those who could rightly claim that their choices of loggings were stranger could still never deny that simple statement, for the City of Andorhal was a very, very strange place.

To begin with, the City of Andorhal sat in the middle of the Western Plaguelands. While religious outposts were often found in such a location, a city never was. The closet a city had ever come to encroaching on Plagueland turf was Tristfal, and the only beings that chose to dwell there any more were undead. Any other city would cry out to find itself so close to such a desolate and terrible land, and it would promptly pick itself up by the foundations and scurry some distance away, where it would cower, permentantly scarred, for the rest of its existance. After that, Andorhal had already been burnt to a smoking ruin on the ground, been made a bastion of Scourge Power, was haunted by the ghosts of innocents, was made cursed by the presence of demons, and was made unholy by the maddening rituals that had gone on there. Almost every building had been razed or ruined, and corpses walked the streets.

The city had also been made a final resting place for fanatical martyrs, and the ground had been soaked in the blood of the Scarlet Crusade. Due to the obsessive amounts of magics that had gone on in its walls, small rifts in time had opened up and time carrion had infested them. This had lead to a bronze dragon taking up residence with the undead in the form of a gnome in order to drive the carrion out.

The waters that Andorhal sat on had been made foul and barren, and all life had been purged from it.

The creeping tendrils of the Viridian Reach moved outward. Roots sank into the filthy ground waters, and flushed the poison from the earth. Trees began to put out sickly leaves, and grasses began to shimmer with life. The massive Viridian Reach itself would take millennia to expand. Its towering giants of trees loomed so high over the Plagueland canopy that a man could sit in the branches of a Viridan Reach tree and look down at the scraggly, almost barren sea of treetops below. Its comforting branches touched the limits of the sky, and were visible until they disappeared under the horizon or the curve of a hill. Algae began to form in the lake, and bacteria flitted through its waters. As these were the most basic types of life, they emerged first, long before the rest of the Plaguelands had shown sign of recuperation. The algae only stretched to the border of Andorhal, however. It, as well as all other life placed into that lake, never entered the main body of water that encircled Caer Darrow and the dreaded Scholomance.

The city was rebuilt. The stumps left by the Scarlet Crusade's ruined lumber mills, remained. Trees that showed no sign of life were torn down, their roots left in the ground in order to fertilize generations of plants that would emerge far into the future. Stone mines reopened. By using these resources, the leftover foundations of Andorhal were restored. The abominations would carry heavy burdens of material to the building sight. Ketala, pouring over books of architecture, rifting through mix-matched memories of the undead she commanded, and even referencing the Forsaken, directed the ghouls in the construction of the houses. The guard towers were torn down and built back up, higher and more magnificent then before, with far better solitary defenses. Some foundations were torn down, and spaces were left empty in case extra buildings were needed. Possessions, trinkets, and books that had been left behind were gathered and stored away. Fish were brought and released in the lake, and the flora and fauna continued to expand. Bears came out of the Viridian Reach to fish in the lake, and all fauna came to the rivers that fed the lake to drink. The Liches, each one having once been a powerful wizard, slowly broke down. Each one reverted to the frightened, confused, and disillusioned mess that the shades changed into. Unlike most of the other undead, they were rather useless. Necromancy, in the form that it was practiced by Ner'zhul's minions, was frowned upon. As they were not beings of immense strength, and as their disillusioning led to revulsion of their own skills, they devoted themselves back to the magical study that had been their passion long before demonic corruption. While Ketala had been able to push back the mad, twisted insanity bestowed upon them, they were the same reckless spell casters they had always been, and only their lack of specialization in anything but the art of necromancy restrained them from making more senseless blunders.

The abominations were static characters in the story of the city. They could not change, due to their lack of solid soul or mind. They would remain as loyal guards, Ketala forever a presence in their minds, until their undead lives were extinguished. The Shades became willing spies. Like the liches, they were ensnared in the mentality of that which they had become. While no longer mindless fanatics of the Scourge, they were willing servants at heart, and so Ketala alternated them between citizens of Andorhal and spies of the wilderness. The banshees, freed from the Lich King's will, dispersed. While many remained in Andorhal, loyal to their savior, many others joined with Sylvanis.

Few committed suicide. They were too exultant over their newfound freedom to end their 'lives' so quickly. The destroyers, gargoyles, and Frost Wyrms all remained. The great dragons took up residence in the mountains south of Andorhal, guarding the path that lead down into the Arathi Highlands. The Gargoyals formed stone statues on the roof of every building, or scoured the countryside by air, and the destroyers accompanied them.

The ghouls were the most dynamic of the inhabitants of Andorhal. Their personalities struck out in all directions. Slowly, they began to dip back into old personalities and interests. All those with the skill of the blade were trained by Ketala, and all those that showed even basic comprehension of written words were encouraged heavily by mental instructions from their savior.

A ghost ran the tavern. He was a cheerful man, plump and happy. Since the Scourge were forced out of Andorhal, he had forgotten the hardships of war. He talked cheerily with any who entered his tavern, even if they were the lowest and most mindless of the undead breed. Though the area immediately around him was cold, the fireplace blazed, and the atmosphere was cheery. Ketala had personally refurnished the inside of the building in order to lure the ghost bartender out of hiding.

And so it was that a year after the battle at the Bulwark, the world was no closer to peace then it had ever been. But there were changes. Save for Scholomance, the Western Plaguelands no longer had any bastions of Scourge control. The undead there ran rampant, some of them performing tasks for the Necromancers of Scholomance. In particular, most new abominations seemed to elude Ketala's mind all together, and she suspicioned that they were now nothing more than meaty puppets. No longer filled with relentless will, if she lead them on a chase for a few days they would more or less give up for a small while before renewing their vigor. Ketala attributed this to necromancers switching off possession of the meaty beast, and she slew the abominations during this period of change. The skeletons, beings that had always hovered between her and Arthas, began to stalk the countryside in numbers that were less susceptible to her power, though those already under her power did not. And so, while the Plaguelands were by no means free of Scourge taint, they became more and more crippled as time wore on. Ketala attributed that Arthas made no effort to rescue his minions from the Plaguelands to the fact that he was using his pawns there to experiment on generating more effective undead warriors. Due to the lack of available human corpses in Northrend (the only ones were currently already twisted by necromantic magics and walking around as ghouls) Arthas chose to hold onto the Plaguelands for as long as he could.

Still, this slow, progressive action did not seem like Arthas. True, Ner'zhul had great wisdom, and was patient enough to wait for results. But Arthas was a being of action and war. She did not see how he could sit in Northrend without plotting some way of bringing further devastation to the world.

Which is how Ketala realized, long ago, that Arthas would reinstate the Plague. How he would do so was up for grabs, and which country he would strike at was not clear either, but it was certain that the Lich King could not remain idle. He would strike at some other part of the world before he conceded to wasting away in Northrend.

Sylvanis smiled to herself, pouring over the results of the test. "You are sure?" she asked the apothecary whom had brought this to her, and she received a nod in answer to her question. A malevolent grin spread over her face, and she nodded to herself. "Then when he strikes…"

"When he strikes? Or would I prefer not to know?" The Banshee Queen frowned, turning and looking back at Ketala. The young paladin stood at the entrance to the Royal Quarter, her hands casually on the hilts of her scimitars. "What are you up to this time Sylvanis? More scheming?"

"How is it you are standing here without me being aware of your presence?"

"You have a tendency to lose concentration when you are excited," Ketala muttered dryly. "That and every undead in here quails under my presence for some unknown reason. What are you up to, Sylvanis?"

"More scheming, of course." The Dark Lady smiled.

"Do you not trust me?"

"Need I remind you, my lady, that when Quel'Thalas and Lordaeron fell, Stormwind took in all the survivors? That most of the remaining High Elves dwell within the safety of Stormwind's walls?" Sylvanis blinked in apparent surprise and then smiled, laughing wickedly.

"Ketala, Ketala…"

"You know he's working on sending out another Plague. The only logical target for him to hit will be human."

"Oh? And why do you not think he will go after the orcs?"

"Ner'zhul is an orc name. The Lich King will save the orcs for last." Sylvanis smiled lightly.

"We shall let Arthas stretch his forces thin. When he goes after his target, be it Dalaran, Stormwind, or some remote village or city, we will be there to counter him. Once his defenses are laid bare, we shall finally defeat him."

"Counter?"

"Yes. We shall let him think his plans are working for as long as possible. My apothecaries have come up with an antitoxin."

"And what else? Some poison that shall only affect humans?" Sylvanis smiled sweetly.

"Dear Ketala, whatever gave you that idea?" She allowed a silence to stretch between them and, seeing as Ketala did not move, she continued. "No, silly girl. There is more at stake here. It is an antitoxin that proves lethal to all life with a body temperature just below human norm."

"You want to kill of the Cult of the Damned…"

"Yes."

"But why?"

"Don't you see, half-elemental? Without followers, Arthas has nothing."

"… He's relying more heavily on his living followers in order to keep me from effecting his undead ones…"

"Which means that striking a blow on his living forces will prove the most fatal."

"… Give me your word on that."

"I swear to you as the Dark-"

"Give me your word as Sylvanis Windrunner, Ranger General of Quel'Thalas, loyal servant of Kael'Thalas Sunstrider." Sylvanis frowned, her face darkening a bit.

"I swear it to you on the life of my prince," she said at long last.

"Good. Because Arthas isn't going to strike Dalaran or Stormwind." Sylvanis blinked, her eyes narrowing.

"What do you mean? You said yourself that the target would be human."

"And it is. Arthas has no connection to Stormwind. He does not know the Prince; yhe only paladins he was closely associated with are now dead… No, Arthas will not strike at Stormwind. And he's never been one to hold sorcery dear to his heart, so Dalaran will not fall beneath his Plague."

"Then where?"

"Theramore, my dear benefactor. Arthas was once in love with Jaina Proudmoore. Thus, in a perverse fashion, it only makes sense that it shall beJaina that he attempts to destroy next, just as he slew his father, the King, and his mentor, Uther."

"… Why did you not bring this to me sooner?"

"It only occurred to me now. Though I'm sure it's passed through your Majordomo's head plenty of times."

"Why would he say nothing? His survival is tied to mine."

"Varimathras doesn't like peace. He can't lie to you, but he can hold his mouth shut when it suits him. If you succeed in your plot, the humans owe you one. Do you think he wants peace between you and the humans? And you and the orcs? My dear lady, you would have no one left to fight. … By the way, I would hurry to Theramore if I were you."

"Why?" she questioned sharply, already sinking into a brooding, dark mood.

"It's been a year, Dark Lady. Arthas can't sit still long enough to do nothing for an entire year. His trap is going to spring quickly and silently." With that, Ketala turned, and she head out. Sylvanis did not have the luxury of walking away. Instead she stalked down the chambers of the Undercity until she reached the private prison cell that she kept Anub'arak's shattered form in. The banshees that were rebuilding his body backed up as she came near. Sylvanis preferred the bow over any other weapon, but it did not relive stress to release arrow after arrow into the body of the nerubian she hated.

Instead, she chose a metal plated whip, and she reveled in the damage she caused. Thin slices, thick slices. A removal of a small portion of carapace. Wrap the whip around the arm and slowly dislocate it. Her banshees fetched Varimathras, and when he entered the prison area he sank to one knee, bowing low, his eyes wide. He heard her breathing hard, a leftover habit from life. He _felt_ her fury and frustration, and he felt it coupled with sorrowed bloodlust. The whip curled loosely around one of his horns, and he stiffened, his long claws digging into the ground. Terror made his demonic heart race as she paused, contemplating what to do next. The smell of her fury slowly abated into amusement, though the sorrow did not fade. It was an underlying scent- one she concealed expertly with her facial features and voice, but it puzzled him even through his terror.

"Take off your armor." He did so, hastily, and he trembled with fear, feeling her mental presence outside his mind. Sylvanis had never mentally tormented him before. He wondered if that was about to change. As his breastplate clattered to the ground, she suddenly grinned, flashing white teeth past her black lips. "_All_ of your armor." He blinked, staring up at her, and slowly removed his armored leggings and the attached loincloth, leaving him entirely stripped of decency. She toyed with her whip almost lovingly, giving it a gently flick and cutting open a strip of flesh on his back, parallel with his wings. "I want to know…" she said, musing over her words, "why it is that Ketala thinks so lowly of you…" The cyan-eyed dreadlord swallowed hard.

"Ketala, my lady?"

"Yes… She appears to think that you have… withheld something from me…"

"My lady, I would not-" A whiplash appeared in his cheek, whipping it open and throwing his head to the side, blood oozing from the wound.

"She believes that Arthas will strike at Theramore… And she believes you knew this and said nothing." He repeated this offense insaying nothing, neither in defense of himself or in admittance. "Did you?"

"…"

"Answer," she hissed suddenly, reaching forward and grabbing his throat, squeezing hard enough to cut off his hair supply and forcing his head to look up at her. The finger that she possessed that was still regenerating, and thus was slightly shorter then the others, dug painfully into his jugular vein.

"I made plans… I set up a swift counter for the attack on Theramore, and had spies there-" She merely smiled sweetly, and he stopped talking, staring up at her in horror. She blinked after a moment, and tilted her head to the side.

"You are shaking. Are you frightened?"

"Please-" he says through his half-closed wind pipe, "forgive me Dark Lady!" Every fibre and muscle in her was stressed, aggravated, and tense. She responded to its wishes bys lugging the dreadlord hard and causing him to smash into the wall. Immediatly, the Dark Lady came up to him and kicked him, her booted toe finding the area between his legs, and he cried out, hitting the wall again. She kicked him, alternating her blows to different areas of his body, and she delighted in every grimace of pain she received from him. The whip tore his flesh and tattered his wings, and still she hit him. Her mind delved into his and raked and slashed. That, on its own, was the most painful. Varimathras was a demon, and pain and anger, even when done unto him, could be a source of amusement and fuel to him. But the havoc she wrecked on his mind ripped him apart from the inside, and left him cowering in pain, fear, and near insanity. When at long last, the torrent ended, his body still reeled and his eyesight was blurred into mush. It still felt as though the blows fell upon his body.

This time, he did not awake to an open window, bandages, or a happier master. He was still in a near fetal position on the floor of the prison, his own blood staining the floor around him. When he woke, she was there, and she looked down at him with devilish malice that even he could not find amusement with. Slowly, she came up to the shivering demon's side, and she knelt, resting a hand on his shoulder. He winced, looking away from her and she chuckled lightly.

"Look at me." He obeyed instantly, his cold eyes wide with fright. She smiled and shifted, leaning lightly against his torso. Then she curved, her head lowering to rest on his shoulder, and she smiled almost lovingly at him. "Don't lie to me again, alright?" she asked, as if talking to a little child. He nodded curtly.In responce, shesmiled and scooted forward, stroking his throat gently. Then she stretched her arm forward, wrapping that limb around his neck and drawing him into a sitting position. She put one hand over his collar bone to steady him and the other behind his head, pushing his bloodless lips to her throat. Like any animal that smelled food directly before it, he bit, and he drank in all her undead corpse had to offer. When he finished, he lay weakly within the circle of her arms. And she stayed there, half cradling him.

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Theramore

Jaina Proudmoore sighed, staring sadly down at the lonely docks. She deemed them lonely because of the lack of ships there. Theramore's massive ports, gargantuan because of the amount of ships that the tiny country claimed, contained only half of the beautiful fleet they ought to. Most of the war ships were out to sea, and attacks from small tribes of naga and murlocs, as well as the occasional crocolisk attack, turned from nuisances to threats.

She was tired. The vast amount of teleporting she was doing wore on her nerves, and she earned no sleep due to the political aspect of this entire affair. To keep her people happy, she was alternating the sailors in the ships in order to equalize adventure and resting time. Her head snapped up, her eyes narrowing as she beheld something on the horizon. Sails. She turned, hurrying into one of her back rooms in order to retrieve a small telescope, and, with this device, she regarded the sails from afar. There was no doubt about it- the ships that gracefully cut through the water were Horde, orcish to be precise. To boot, the entire orc-troll fleet appeared to be in attendance, from small skiffs and troll destroyers to a juggernaut or so rescued from the old days.

There was no doubt about it. Within minutes, all of Theramore was aware and preparing. Ordered chaos ensued, sailors running every which way. Every boat capable of mounting a weapon was boarded and set out into the open waters. Miss Proudmoore's flagship was the last to leave the docks as cannoneers, long-range sorcerers, and marksmen set up in Theramore's towers. Though Miss Proudmoore refused to believe the orcish fleet would attack, she did not have the luxury of allowing them close without setting up a defensive wall. She had too few men to resist betrayal. As the fleet neared, white flags became apparent on their masts, and the ships slowed to a halt as they approached the line of fire of her wall of ships. The flagship alone went on. Alone, Jaina's flagship move to meet it, and she was hailed by, of all people, Vol'jin.

"Heya! Nice ta be seein ya, little sorceress!" Jaina blinked, smiling light. Surely, surely such an introduction did not herald an invasion.

"Might I inquire as to why this fleet has come to Theramore? You make us worry that war is coming," she hailed back, grinning and stepping up on the railing that surrounded the deck, gripping a line to keep from falling over. As the Princess of a sea nation, Jaina Proudmoore had more experiences with water then some sailors, and it showed.

"And war be coming, indeed, sorceress," Vol'jin said, his face suddenly grave. "At least, it will be coming if you not be guarding your doorstep better." Miss Proudmoore blushed furiously.

"My fleet is currently in the Eastern Kingdoms-"

"The Warchief know dis," Vol'jin said, lifting a hand to stop her protests. "That is why he sends as much trade as he can to help Theramore. Also, he charged ole Vol'jin with keeping the waters between Sen'jin and Theramore safe. You won't be having more trouble with da murlocs." The sorcerer blinked, caught halfway between a blush of shame and praising the Light for such salvation.

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Moonglade

"I have a question," stated one being.

"You have many," returned another with an amused and friendly tone.

"Your brother said the same thing…"

"Did he now?"

"Yep. Not in the same manner, mind you, but the same words."

"How ironic."

"Anyway, back to my question."

"Yes?"

"Why, exactly, do you have antlers?"

Furion blinked and smiled. "They are an evolution brought on by dedication to the Emerald Dream, and to nature. All who bear the title 'Keeper of the Grove' also bear antlers. It comes with strong druidism."

"You were just the first Night Elf with antlers because you were the first Night Elf to become a druid without becoming fully absorbed by nature and sprouting a third pair of limbs," concluded Zul'vii.

"Exactly."

"Are they heavy?"

"I do not notice them…"

"Oh. Well, you're a lovely stag."

"You do realize the term 'stag' applies to a handsome male in most cult-"

"I was being silly."

"… Oh. You know, you really are terrible at emptying your mind to meditate."

"How can I empty it without getting rid of all these questions?" The Archdruid chuckled and shook his head.

"Hush." Zul'vii smiled in return and nodded, closing her eyes. For once, her parents were quiet and still, and her whole body and mind relaxed. The forest creaked and groaned around her, the vibrations of their subtle movements like melodies across the green and violet landscape. Melodies… A soft, earthen singing, deep within the woods. Small bells of flowers, pipes of reeds, and whirls of wind. The spirits and the wisps… Her fingers moved, pouring the life that flooded through her into a tiny space, elegantly twisting it. Laughter jerked her out of her, and she opened her eyes. At first she blinked. Then she stumbled back, staring up at the small tree now separating her and Malfurion Stormrage.

"Ah… Helping you is going to make me jealous. You are a bad influence on me, angel!"

"I… I did this…? But when we first practiced, It took me so much concentration…"

"You were going about it wrong, angel," he said quite simply. "It is one thing to be born a gifted being as you are, and it is quite another to know _how_ to use that gift. You are an angel. The forces of Life run through you in a way that they could never run through a normal mortal like myself. When you learned to meditate and work through your subconscious, your grip on your own powers intensified exponentially." He came around the tree, smiling down at her and offering her a hand up through the mess of roots and branches. "You have come so far in a year…"

"I feel like I'm a liability." He blinked.

"How so?"

"No one compares themselves to me. I'm like some untouchable icon. And it bothers me." The Archdruid smiled, and laughed lightly.

"You are what you are."

"Yeah, but I'm only that way because I'm a 'divine' being, not a 'normal' one. Instead of just being gifted in my own right, I'm 'divine'."

"You are gifted in both senses, but think of it this way- to be divine is to be one of the most singularly gifted on the face of the planet. Your healing emerged from you. Your gift, like Mahi's and like the elusive Trua's, is based around life, but that life emerges from you, Zul'vii, as the power of healing." Zul'vii grumbled, but she conceded to this explanation, and stood up on her own, without the Archdruid's assistance.

Like any troll or elf, Zul'vii was tall. In the fashion of her late parents, she stood just above a magnificent 8 feet in height. This measurement even capped the dimensions of her above-average cousin, Vol'jin, and almost par with the greatest Tauran that ever lived, Cairne Bloodhoof.

So, amusingly, Zul'vii happened to be half a foot taller then two of the tallest beings in the land, Tyrande and Furion. The Archdruid, so awesome and powerful, came up to her shoulders. This fact delighted Zul'vii, who was never able to get over the fact that she could see over Malfurion Stormrage's head. It also made her giggle to realize that if Illidan were to be purged of the demonic forces within him, she'd be able to see over _his_ head as well. Likewise, Malfurion, despite the fact that he knew Zul'vii was an angelic being descended from one of the largest races in Azeroth, always marveled at the girl's height. It seemed to surprise him every time she faded into the shadows, and you could tell he was trying to figure out how one could hide such a behemoth in nothing but the absence of light.

Zul'vii had pointed out that Night Elves were considered behemoths to all other races (The tallest of which normally stooped anyway) and could still shadow meld. Furion had countered that most Night Elves stood at seven feet tall- not eight. Zul'vii had argued that it was only one foot. Furion had argued that the difference between 8 and 7 was the same as the difference between 7 and 6 (Which, if we put it in human perspective, is the difference between 6 and 5 (Or, since Zul'vii was even taller, 6 foot and 4'11)). Zul'vii had returned with asking how Illidan, whom trailed flaming footsteps, gave off a vibrant aura of demonic magic, and whom stood at 10 feet tall, a height where wielding trees as clubs first became feasible, could hide or move silently. Furion had thought a moment and responded that he hadn't a clue, and the conversation had ended with light laughter.

Now she looked down at the Archdruid and smiled. Malfurion was young in terms of elves, but he bore the marks of worry and strain. He was slender and powerfully built, almost identical to Illidan, with a broad set of shoulders. Unlike Illidan, who was sinewy muscle, Malfurion was more sturdily disciplined. Rather then a spindly tree, he was more like a slender, tall version of a dwarf. His face had a mature, aged quality to it, and his beard hid the elfin youth beneath.

Zul'vii blinked suddenly, her eyes narrowing, and she regarded the Archdruid before her. He was mortal now, though the ties he had with nature and his natural elfin longevity would keep him alive for many more years than any human could hope to expect. His eyes were beginning to show it, and, one day far in the future, Malfurion would succumb to old age and death. The thought chilled her, and she realized quite sadly that the world was not static. Thrall and Jaina had reached their mid-twenties. Cairne was descending from his peak. Even Vol'jin was beginning to show his years. One day, they would begin to die. And from there, the rest would follow. She found comfort in the fact that Illidan's demonic magic would keep him alive, just as the Well of Eternity and the World Tree had done for the elves for generations.

She tilted her head to the side, and a question occurred to her.

"Malfurion, do you think I'm going to age?" He blinked, eyeing her a long moment.

"The Mahi does not age. It is reasonable to assume that you will not, or that you will age very, very slowly."

"… I'm trying to decide if that's good or not…"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"You only want to be immortal if everyone else around you is also immortal. Otherwise you just get left alone… and you're forgotten…" Furion blinked. "You are going to die, Malfurion, unless another Well of Eternity is created. So is Tyrande." He winced, half turning and looking out into the forest.

"I try not to think of that…"

"You'll both live to a ripe, ripe old age… But then you'll die…"

"…"

"And I won't? I'll still be around, then… You'll die… And Tyrande, and Jaina, and Thrall… And Cairne and my cousin Vol'jin. But I'll always be here, won't I?"

"Mahi and Ketala will not die. Nor will Illidan."

"It's still hard. One day, most of my friends will be dead…"

"Then you must remember to never stop making friends," he said encouragingly, and he pat her on the shoulder. "When the old dies, the new merely replaces it. Now, we should be getting back. I have kept you long enough."

"Illidan will complain."

"That, Illidan most surely will. I cannot quite understand why, however."

"No? It's really quite simple," she said, beginning to follow him back through the forest.

"Enlighten me."

"He's just jealous."

"Yes, but _why_?"

"He's afraid I'll like you better than him. Everyone else likes you better than him- why not me, too?" Furion blinked, looking back at her. She looked at him a moment, her glazed green and orange eyes flicking to his own silver ones. "I'm his friend, Malfurion. Illidan doesn't have many friends. He's a bit wary of losing them, and the thought of losing one to you, who has countless friends already, is unbearable to him."

"I've been meaning to ask you more about that. Why are you his friend? You do not seem to have anything in common- no interests or morals…"

"He says I'd make a good demonhunter."

"I don't advise that path."

"You wouldn't advise anything that had to do with magic."

"Magic is inherently-"

"Chaotic. So I've heard." The Archdruid eyed her reproachfully.

"You have not been given a very fair portrayal of me, have you?" Zul'vii eyed him a moment as she pulled her cyan and brown hair up behind her and began to braid it.

"Furion, you have no idea _who_ Illidan Stormrage is. The real Illidan is hidden beneath endless layers of countless origins. All you know is he loved Tyrande, he makes decisions you deem foolish, and he covets magic. That's it, Furion. That's really all you know about your brother."

"And you know more?" he said with a frown. "I once lived side-by-side with Illidan and Tyrande, for more years then you have even _seen_ since _birth_."

"That boy is Illidan Stormrage. He never really grew up. He never really had a chance to."

" 'That boy' mindlessly caused the deaths of his own people in order to defeat his enemy, and then betrayed-"

"Before that, Furion. Before you even saw Tyrande as anything more then your childhood friend." Furion fell silent, lost in memories, looking ahead of himself again in order to watch the unbeaten route ahead of them. "Before the relationship between you and he turned into strict competition."

"… I can hardly remember such a time," he said at last, and with a sad note.

"He's arrogant. And he's very vain," she said with a grin. "Very egotistical."

"Lovely traits."

"There are more," she said with a smile. "He has a shy side. Very determined and stubborn. And always very eager to please. And _loyal_. Very loyal."

"Loyal! How do you, in your wildest dreams, conclude that he is loyal?"

"Demonic voices in your head can lead to undesirable results. The fact that Illidan has made ill judgments is attributed to that fact."

"Give one shred of evidence that proves that he is loyal."

"Tyrande." Malfurion blinked. "Tyrande is all the proof you need. Compare Illidan with the Lich King, and you will see they are near identical… Except for where Tyrande is concerned. All the power in the world could not make him forget his loyalty to her. And he returned her to you when she had been swept down the river that once. Illidan is very loyal. He just has a… distorted viewpoint on how to go about expressing it. And as for not having morals in common…" She shrugged lightly. "You really have to think about it from Illidan's point of view. He always has good intentions."

Furion simply regarded her over his shoulder, thinking to himself, and then looked back as they approached Nighthaven.

"I suppose you are right in ways…"

"It's all about point of view. What Illidan does believe he did wrong, he deeply regrets."

"Not that that is very much."

They walked silently for a long moment.

"You've got to stop trying to protect me, Furion. I'm a big girl. Despite the fact that I'm not the best druid in the world, I _can_ take care of myself."

"… I only worry for you, angel, and I try to pass on wisdom. I'm simply saying you should be _careful_ around Illidan… He's not entirely stable…"

"I know, Furion, and I'm thankful. But Illidan is following us, and your words are really starting to get to him around now." Malfurion paused, looking back at her and blushing light magenta. Zul'vii giggled. "He does that a lot, you know. That's another of his quirks. He always listens when no one else thinks he is… Just to see what they really think. And he's upset you still don't trust him. He's wondering how many times he has to try and save the world before your opinions will change. Right Illidan?"

No response, but the forest communicated to Malfurion that his twin was, indeed, nearby. "Oh come on. I'm not leaving until you answer me…" There was a light crisping of leaves, and both of them looked over to see half of Illidan's silhouette beside a tree. Zul'vii grinned and gave a wave to Furion, heading off into the forest.

They ate dinner with the Archdruid, delivering both their report and the report of the Cenarian Circle, and by daybreak, they were heading out for Felwood again. One might wonder how daybreak could so quickly follow dinner, but then one must remember that the Nightelves were nocturnal, and that daylight to them heralded sleep.

* * *

(Cont.)

Malfurion sighed, watching as the two disappeared on their raptors into the caverns that lead down into Felwood and Winterspring. They were a strange pair. The next day, a different sort of 'strange' pair passed through the caverns… But this time, it was _from_ Felwood to Moonglade… And the moment they entered the sacred forests, Furion's eyes went wide. Instantaneously, he had called his riding stag to him and was bounding through the forests on it. He paused on the path toward the caverns, his stag kicking up light dirt as it fought to halt quickly. Ahead of them, a massive, desert lizard crawled around one large tree. Seated on its back, a rightfully massive creature guided it.

"Bloodhoof?" he said in distorted Tauran, a smile forming on his face. Though Cairne was not, if one were to place a label on the great chieftain, a druid, he was one of the greatest advocates of peace and of the Tauran concept of "The Earthmother." Seeing him in Moonglade was an unusual but pleasant surprise.

"Malfurion- ah… how perfect, you are just the Elf I desired to see!" he said with pleasure, coming up to the Night Elf's stag. "I had expected weeks more in order to find you! How is it I find you so quickly? I trust all is well?"

"All is, Tauran. Actually, I sensed a disturbance in the forest… Something… strange. And… now I sense it as if it were you…" The Tauran chuckled, smiling and twisting his torso to look behind him.

"You sense my riding companion. Wake up, little one… Wake up…" A few moments later, and a silvery-white countenance peered past Cairne's arm. Malfurion blinked, looking up at the small creature with quite some awe. "This little one was found in a raid on the demons by the young Orc Warchief and Miss Jaina Proudmoore," continued Cairne, picking up the young child and offering her down to Malfurion. The NightElf blinked, surprised, as he was not used to handling children, and then slowly took the child from the great Tauran. She wrapped her arms around his, looking up at him in equal wonder and curiosity. Her face was beautiful ivory, her hair a sprawl of whitish silver. She had all the beauty of an elf in her facial features and all the uniqueness of a tauran in the structure of her legs. And what's more, a single, white horn protruded from her forehead.

"I have been traveling with her for a long time. I felt almost as if she were a child to me, and felt compelled to show her the world as it is now, though I have frequently returned to Thunderbluff. I have ridden all the way from Felwood to bring her to see you… I thought you, of all people, would be interested, especially now that you are well," the Tauran continued in an old, almost tired voice, smiling down at the silvery child.

The little girl had grown since the last time our readers had the fortune to be told of her whereabouts. She had shot up half a foot in height, and she sported a soft, pliable leather dress.

"Hello," she murmured cheerfully in the language of the Tauran. Malfurion smiled lightly, and managed a horribly butchered form of Tauran.

"Greetings, little one. What is your name?" The girl blinked, looking him up and down, and she giggled, twitching from Tauran to Elfish.

"I am Awëö'."

"I am Malfurion Stormrage. That's quite a name you have there," he said, in the characteristic manner of adults who have not learned to be comfortable with children, and know not how to interact with them.

"It means 'flower'," Carine mentioned. "I brought her to where one of my people is attempting to make peace with yours, between Ashenvale and Aszhara. She picked up your language quickly."

"She is most extraordinary," the Archdruid murmured, not sure how to respond as Awëö reached up to play with his antlers. "As… as if she were an entire forest, all compacted into one entity… That is how strong the forces of nature run in her…"

"My people sensed this as well. She has another form- one we found her in, and it appears she can change freely between the two. Awëö, would you show the Archrdruid how you can change?"

Awëö, herself, nodded and transformed, turning into a small, beautiful white fawn in his lap, and Malfurion looked on in awe as his stag turned its head to nuzzle the pearly, ivory creature.

"Most extraordinary… The sight of such a being gives me hope…" He lifted his head to look at Cairne again, and he smiled. "But where are my manners? You have ridden far. Come, Nighthaven is not far, and the Cenarion circle consists of both our people."

"I would have it no other way. With all the world straining towards war… Perhaps it would be best if our nations could agree to some more formal type of peace…?"

"It seems we have no end of politics. Yes, let us return to Nighthaven and discuss. The issue had been wearing on my mind lately… And now that I am well again, I should retake my position in Tedrassil…"

"It seems to me, druid, that there are more things on your mind then the weakness and sickness your depth of sleep brought to you." Malfurion blinked as Kodo and stag walked side by side, and he looked up at the Tauran questioningly. "Such a place of peace and silence… When you get to be my age- and I speak in terms of being old, not in terms of how many years I have lived- you begin to appreciate it more and more. And, of course, it is all the more enjoyable with the company of one you love."

Malfurion swallowed, shamefully thinking of this last year- a stolen period of time. Because of weakness and a few reoccurring illnesses, Furion had been given legitimate reason not to return immediately to Tedrassil. It was as Cairne suspected- he was enjoying this time of peace far too much, and he had lost so much time with his beloved that a single year seemed nothing compared to-

"Not to insinuate anything, Archdruid. But… in all honesty… spending time with loved ones is the one thing that most beings take for granted… until it is too late to change anything."

"You have a son…"

"Yes," Cairne said.

"And… his mother…?" The Elder Tauran sighed and said nothing, his eyes far off and sad. Malfurion looked up at the bovine creature for a long moment, and then gazed at the path ahead of them, deep in thought. Only the girl on his lap seemed oblivious to the trials and confusions of the world. She was blissful and free, and she giggled, turning back into her humanoid form and catching glow bugs in her hands to marvel and smile at.

* * *

Bwahaha! We finally have a plot again! The middle of the story leaves us, and we move forward once more! FEAR ME! 

**Review or I shall not update! Yarg!**

Please review! Pretty pretty please? Pretty please with sugar on top? And a cherry? and fudge? Do you like fudge? Fudge is good... Please remark on the quality of my storline and plot and all that nice stuff if you feel it changes or if it bothers you. I like to know these things, even if I am a stubborn Tauras, and it gives me insight into what people think of the material of my tale. I want to keep you happy, surprized, and interested!


	25. The Return

Yeth! I will begin by stating that I loved your criticism, and you inspired me to write this chapter!

Again! Again Yeth is the only one who reviews! See? He gives me a review about what he likes and doesn't like, and if you read his review, you can guess who is doing evil things in this chapter! Please all you people! Please review! Tell me your thoughts, your likes and dislikes about this story, and any parts you found amusing or thoughtful! comment on my style. Tell me if you like the direction my story takes or if you feel I'm loosing some of my edge! SAY SOMETHING! Pleeasseee! I beg of you! Shietan, Azure, Rogue, and all you other wonderful beautiful people! Where have you gone? Don't leave me!

I have slight self confidence issues O.O :Rocks in corner sucking thumb: Must... know... what... readers... think...

**Review or I shall not update! Yarg!**

I love you all! Thank you to all you people who read this fic, even if you don't review, and I hope you like it! Please let me know what you think, if you can!

* * *

**The Return  
**(Of Many Things :P)  
(Like what? Oh... War... Ugly dead people... More ugly dead people... Even more ugly dead people...)

* * *

Orggrimar

Thrall eyed the exaggeratedly long piece of parchment and lifted a brow dubiously. "Miss Proudmoore-"

"It's not as complicated as it looks," she insisted, pointing out several words written in bright green. "The runes inscribed on the parchment are just there to activate the innate magic in the scroll. You only have to speak these three words."

"I'm not sure this is really necessary-" Jaina frowned, eyeing the Warchief a long moment.

"It took me nine days of my time, without sleep, to make this," she said at long last. The Warchief blinked and quickly cleared all uncertainty from his face. "You saw how my ability to teleport was so helpful in the past. Besides, you have the gift of the seers- you can see distant things in visions. That will help you to picture where you desire to go with the teleportation scroll, and it will ensure that if your people are in danger you will be able to get an army there to aid them." He nodded his head at the wisdom of this.

"Thank you Miss Proudmoore. But why suddenly think of creating this now?"

"You've helped me so much by sending ships to Theramore…" The Warchief blinked, suddenly realizing that this was both a gift and a trinket to repay him for his kindness, and he felt worse for doubting the applications of the gift she had striven so hard to create.

"It was nothing, Miss-"

"Jaina," she interrupted.

"Miss Jaina?" She rolled her eyes in a half amused, half tired-looking fashion and grinned at him.

"You are terrible." She snatched the scroll from him and wrapped it up, placing it in a case and handed it to him. He grinned, showing white tusk, and took it, tucking it away. "And you are a terrible host. Here I have been at least thirty minutes, starved and exhausted, and you haven't even offered me a bit of food." Thrall laughed; a deep, friendly chuckle. He turned, flashing her grin halfway between impish and charming and lifted a hand in the way of a proper gentleman.

"Would you join me for dinner, Miss Jaina?" She gave him a shove which he reciprocated, knocking her back a few feet. The two laughing allies proceeded to a dining hall, and the Warchief had food brought to sate his starving companion. She ate ravenously for one so small, and complimented him on the meat and greens. When he set a cup of tea before her, she looked at him with some surprise before taking it to sip. He sat, eating a similar meal to hers, and contrived to make small talk, asking her about the current state of affairs of her troops in the Eastern Kingdoms. She groaned, sighing and leaning back in her chair, explaining the hectic process of exchanging the sailors aboard the many ships and keeping trade running properly. Thrall nodded sympathetically. After some time, he decided to broach a delicate subject with her, and produced a book.

"The late Admiral Proudmoore… did you know he authored several of his own books on trade and naval warfare?"

"Of course. He always liked to set his thoughts down to paper so he could review them later on." She made a lightly pained expression. "Why do you ask?"

"I have one of his first volumes on the art of naval strategy. I've been reading it, and found it ingeniously insightful. I would have never thought of half the tricks and tactics that he incorporated into the first few chapters."

The thought of Thrall being well-read had occurred to Jaina before, but she still lifted a brow lightly and smirked.

"You know…" she said slowly, poking at her salad with a fork, "you are…"

"Different then you expected?" he asked lightly, a bit disappointed by her lingering racism.

"In ways," she said after a moment. "I hear so much of old stories of toil and bloodshed, and, though I do know they do not apply…" She paused a moment and continued. "Your society is based around honor, physical accomplishment, and strife, all concepts my culture considers barbaric."

"So it is strange to think of an orc reading?"

"Any orc but you? Yes. It wasn't so much as I'd thought you were too simple to read, as it just really hadn't occurred to me before that you would."

"Are we so different that you would expect different behavior of me then you would of a human?" Jaina lifted her eyes to his and smiled, not at all embarrassed.

"Yes, Thrall. But that's just the difference of society, not of race. If a tribe of barbarian humans moved in next door, I'd think the same of them until their intelligent chieftain made me see the error of my assuming ways." The orc allowed himself a smile

"Well-said."

"I do have a question though." He looked attentively at her. "Why are your eyes blue and the eyes of most other orc's red?"

"I have no demonic taint in my blood. In fact, my bloodline never merged with Mannoroth's."

"If you go on and have children, one will always be able to tell your decedents apart from the rest of your people." He smiled lightly.

"You have unusual eyes yourself."

"Yes. The Kiren Tor attributed that to my natural flare for magic."

"They have always been that way?" She nodded.

"Always bright cyan. Don't worry- I doubt it's similar to the red found in most orc eyes."

"I hope it's not…"

"Magic is a passion for me, Thrall. It's like a great big logic problem that I- being the small, frail being I am- can use to help those whom I would normally be incapable of saving."

"You have no lust for more?" She shook her head.

"Don't worry Thrall. I'm not ending up like Grom any time soon." The Warchief tightened up, his powerful muscles tightening with anguish and memory. At length, he sighed.

"I'll hold you to that promise," he said at last. She smiled, finishing her food and setting her utensils down. She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back in her chair, looking at him.

"Don't look so glum," she said at last.

"You might be unkempt, smelly, and hot, but at least you don't live in a bog infested with ogres and angry black dragons." Thrall grinned lightly at this attempt at humor, and lifted a hand to his braids and coarse black hair.

"Unkempt?" he asked with a slight edge of mock disdain. "You try riding wolf-back for three days straight and see how pretty you look, Miss Proudmoore," he said with a smirk.

"From Sen'jin?" He nodded.

"On business, as always."

"You'd rather go out and enjoy the warm water?" He laughed lightly.

"Hardly. I'd rather be out driving the centaur from their nests rather then sending others to do so. But I suppose a warm bath wouldn't be too bad." He unthreaded his two braids and proceeded to rebraid one, smiling lightly. She eyed him and shook his head.

"I envy you." He blinked, arching a black brow at her.

"How so?"

"I can't braid." Thrall flat out gaped, his lips parted and jaw lowered.

"You can't… braid?"

"Nope. I can twine rope, tie any knot you can possibly think of, and rig a sail, but I can't braid." He just stared at her incredulously for a moment and then burst out laughing, standing up and coming up to her, pulling her out of her seat. "Wha-?"

"Come here you strange, silly human!" She laughed, following him to a mirror. He positioned her in front of it and grinned, picking up her hands and putting them to her own hair. "There. Now divide it into three equal pieces." Jaina blushed, a bit embarrassed that she was getting hair-styling lessons from an orc, but she complied, dividing up some of her hair. He nodded, taking some of his own hair and dividing it. "Now weave it like this- take a piece from each side at a time and bring it between the other two," he continued, showing her a few times. She grumbled, but complied rather messily. He burst out laughing and pushed her hands away, taking her hair and smoothing it out. It was surprisingly soft for the fact that it was the color of straw, and he blinked, trying not to think of their current position as awkward. He slowly braided her hair to show her how it was done, finishing halfway down the strand, and then let go.

"There," he said to break the silence between him, "now you do the rest." She lifted a brow and tilted her head back to look up at him. Then she shook her head, evidently thinking 'Strange Orc', and proceeded to braid her hair, quickly mastering the technique. She finished and he nodded in approval, and both were strangely silent for a long moment.

"… I'm getting hair styling lessons from an orc…" Jaina reflected at last. Thrall grinned, and composed the second of his own braids.

"Sad."

"Don't make my dye your hair blonde." Thrall blinked and laughed again at the idea. He patted her gently on the shoulder with one of his large hands, and smiled his brutish/impish/strangely charming smile at her.

"You should be going sorceress. Your people will be missing you." She smiled, turning and nodding to him.

"Thank you for the meal."

"It was my pleasure, Miss Proudmoore. Do not worry- my ships will keep your coasts safe."

"I'm counting on it, Orc! The life of my people is in your hands!" she said with a grin, and she backed up in order to teleport.

* * *

Theramore

"Iss it ready?"

"Almosst."

"Well hurry! Elsse the humans will begin to suspect!"

"Alright… Alright… It'ss in place." The second of the two shady figures proceeded to clamp the barrel onto the dock and nodded in satisfaction. Both stumbled, looking up in amazement at the sounds of ghoulish voices wailing from some horrid abyss. Green light poured through the sky, crashing down at one location.

"They are here! The enemy is here!"

"Help me get this open!" one of the figures demanded, slipping a crow-bar into the side of the barrel. The other went to his assistance, helping to push down… and yet suddenly, a shadow fell across them. One of them glanced up, and blinked.

"L-lo-?" he cut off short and issued a bloodcurdling scream as he was hoisted into the air. There was a gruesome click as his organs were wrenched bodily from his corpse, and he fell limp beside his associate. The other cloaked being lifted his eyes to the first's murderer and swallowed hard. He would have said something dramatic and memorable if he had not been so quickly decapitated. The barrel was kicked brutally into the ocean, where it drifted to the bottom of the endless sea.

The assault on Theramore Isle had begun.

Jaina Proudmoore herself shouted orders to her troops. The cannons turned around, aiming at the necropolis that was currently being summoned into the center of her beloved city.

A portal opened, teleporting several Frost Drakes and a massive population of destroyers, ghouls, banshees, necromancers, gargoyles, and abominations into the base.

And from there, all hell broke loose.

Small, fleet ships were sent to the orcish fleet patrolling the waters between Orggrimar and Theramore, alerting the Horde ships that the island kingdom was in great need of aid. The sudden and massive summoning of ziggurats provided for the bulk of the defenses against Theramore's onrushing troops as, in the confusion, Plague Caldrons were positioned throughout the city.

Calling her people to order from the top of her tower proveduseless, so Jaina moved downwards to the ground level. The townspeople were hurried into the tower and barricaded in rooms along with whatever small possessions they had managed to carry with them. Hasty walls were thrown up around the necropolis, and soldiers stood their ground behind these fragile shields. Occasionally, one side or the other would run forward in a line and attack the other, as cannons pounded down at the Necropolis. The expenditure of gold that this expedition took the undead was horrendous, but it did not appear to be the Scourge's intention to launch a full-fledged siege against the island. Instead, their goal became somewhat apparent when a detachment of undead, led by a formidable, cloaked, and armored Death Knight, broke through the defenses and stormed Jaina's tower.

Never one to leave her people to fend for themselves, the sorceress proceeded to teleport a major section of her own army into the magical tower to defend against the enemy, and once more regained her balcony, resorting to teleporting to reach the various battalions and to order them around. At last, a necropolis was brought down, only for three more to take its place. The amount of Acolytes required for such a task must have been amazing, and she was ashamed to realize that these acolytes must have been in her city long, long before this invasion too place.

A snarling brought her from her task and her brooding, and she spun around in order to blast apart several ghouls that were running towards her.

She had not expected to see the Death Knight enter her room, accompanied by a large grouping of liches and banshees.

Jaina was not the leader of her people for nothing. She fought with everything in her. Her water elemental pounded down on the knight, her _Blizzard_ blowing apart his lesser minions. The banshees had no luck with cursing or possessing her, and were taken down as quickly as the ghouls. She teleported, moving around the chamber as the minions came after her, using every trick to rip the various undead to shreds.

She could not have been expected to realize that the sole purpose behind sending so many minions to her slaughtering spells was to wear her down. As soon as the last lich fell, the knight moved forward. She set up a wall of wind, making sure to limit it so that it would only be powerful enough to stop the Death Knight from coming through. She sorely underestimated her opponent, and a hand closed on her windpipe, lifting her into the air.

She fought…

Oh, she fought…

By the time she had exhausted herself and her manna supply, the figure was smoking with ash and burnt flesh, but it still refused to release her. After a moment, the knight began to siphon her magic as if it were a demon, and she cried out as her magical capabilities dropped to rock bottom. It then plucked her staff from her fingers with effortless ease, dropping it on the ground.

As if kidnapping the ruler of Theramore were some menial task, the figure wrapped one arm around Jaina and held tightly onto her while the other hand produced a teleportation scroll. A mad, hellish, unworldly voice issued forward, hissing over the words of the scroll one by one, and Jaina screamed out for her men.

She was surprised when, halfway through the reading of the scroll, she suddenly heard the bellow of a Tauran and the roar of an orc. The sound of a massive, barbaric battle cry echoed throughout the tower, and the tower air thickened, as the building was suddenly occupied by a much larger quantity then had previously been in residence.

Thrall… The Light praise the Warchief… That teleportation document had come in handy after all. The orcs poured through the tower, occupying every crevice as they drove out the undead that had invaded it, buying the human population more time. As if Providence itself were looking out for the young Sorcerer, the Warchief himself appeared, donned in his magnificent black armor with his wolf at his side, several Blademasters and other commanders around him.

"THRALL!" The Warchief's head turned immediately at the informal cry, and he stared wide-eyed into the room occupied by Jaina Proudmoore. The cold, armored figure that held her strove to cover her mouth, but a minor wall of wind temporarily distracted his hand. "THRALL!" she screamed, struggling desperately, pleadingly.The orccharged forward, a gout of lightning shooting forward from his hands in attempt to destroy the teleportation scroll. He was a nanosecond to late. The armored figure read off the last word, and they vanished with a burst of light. The Warchief swore, freezingin place and falling into a brief moment of uncertain horror. His green countenance contorted in anger and grief at his failure, and his eyes dwelt upon the spot where his ally and friend had so recently been. The moment of weakness left him quickly, however, and he spun, darting back towards his men. Without a spell caster powerful enough to summon a portal or a long distance teleport, the 'figure that had kidnapped The Lady Jaina Proudmoore' had but one base to teleport to- the necropolis in the center of Theramore Island. While Ner'zhul himself was powerful in the arts of magic, he failed in the one aspect Jaina so excelled in- the art of controlled teleportation.

Jaina screamed as she appeared besides the three Necropolises, fighting against the iron grip that held her. She immolated herself, called down lightning bolts and summoned her water elemental, but the undead being shook off every blow as if it were nothing. Now, more than at any other time, Jaina Proudmoore felt as helpless as a child. Her water elemental was disposed of in seconds by ghouls, and the grip around her body left her tired and aching from her vain struggles. Worse, she could not teleport as she was.

Miss Proudmoore calmed eventually, realizing that squirming would get her nowhere, and looked around at the lines of undead warriors that battled against the defenders of Theramore. For every human or orc slain, five undead fell, and so Jaina was left perplexed as to what the object of this attack truly was. There were far, far too many defenders, and the undead were horridly outnumbered.

But then… Perhaps the object was not Theramore Island at all… Perhaps the object was… _her…_

That seemed the more likely reason the undead were here, but then why was it that she had not been slain already? Abruptly, the grip that the armored figure had on her shifted. The hand moved her… and, amazingly, set her down on her feet. The hand released her for a moment, and transferred into a firm hold on her arm, though the being did not squeeze her limb too tightly. As she whipped her head around to stare at the armored figure, its other hand moved to her chin, holding her face gently.

The words of several spells passed through her mind, but they became frayed and distorted as the figure knelt on one knee, and the shadowing that had disguised its undead face vanished. Beneath the darkness of the being's helm suddenly blazed two, ice-blue eyes in a face colored pale gray with cold and half-undeath. Lady Proudmoore's cyan eyes flew open wide, her lips parting, her mind and eyes held captive by the fierce mental prowess of the man she had once loved. Despite every ounce of sense and anguish, Jaina Proudmoore could not look away. She held there, locked in this duel with a mind vastly superior to her own. Ner'zhul knew the inner workings of one's conscious, and he knew, through first hand experience, how to bend a will to his own. A plated thumb brushed slightly, almost tenderly over her soft chin, and she shivered with an icy, piercing cold that froze her all the way to her very soul.

So Jaina Proudmoore did not notice as several liches gathered around then, beginning a chant to summon a portal. The Plague had already infested the city, and the Scourge's purpose was done. Slowly, Arthas stood once more, his gaze still locked with the sorceress's. He stood two feet taller than her, and she only came up to his chest, but her head tilted back so that their gazes never broke. His armored hand left her shoulder and unlatched Frostmourne from his back. The sadistic wraith blade whistled lightly as it cut through the air and came to rest at the Lich King's side and tilted inward, almost protectively, around the Lady Jaina Proudmoore.

Half in fighting defiance of Ner'zhul, and half drawn on by what of this Lich King was once Arthas, Jaina slowly lifted her hands. Tears formed on her cheek as her fingertips slowly pushed through Ner'zhul's helmet to touch his icy skin. Surrounded by his cold entity, she barely felt the salty tears freezing against her cheeks. He allowed her to cup his cheeks, her breathing irregular with sorrow and loss… A face so familiar, yet so contorted with mindless darkness… Hair that had once been blonde, now icy silver… The edges of fading warmth showing pink around the eyes… He had loved her once. Once, long before all this, before that dreaded sword or that murderous plague. He had loved her… and… and she had returned that love…

Arthas craned over slowly, his lips twisting in what could have been interpreted as anything from satisfaction, to love, to madness. His face neared hers, sapping thewarmth from the air around her and from her face. His cold blue eyes filled her vision, remorseless and yet so horrifyingly familiar. Had he always had a darkness inside of him? Or could it be that he was still the same Arthas…? The same Arthas whom had picked her up and laughed with her… His frozen, white lips neared hers, his nose and cheek almost touching hers they were so close.

A seed of doubt wedged its way painfully into her mind. Her father had been the same. He had picked her up and twirled her around, laughed with her and read her stories… But there was that coldness… that unforgiving coldness in his eyes as he had laid dying…

_Jaina…_ he had mouthed, and with spite and hatred.

"_Jaina…" _the lips of the Lich King murmured. A wolf howl sounded in the distance as the liches approached the end of their chant. Jaina drew backwards an inch, and the eyes redoubled their mental strength. Slowly, the face drew near her again. _"…Jaina…" _the ethereal voice called softly.

"JAINA!" The cry startled her, and she jerked backwards, striving to find the source of her name and yet trapped by the merciless blue eyes. "JAINA! JAINA, LOOK AWAY!" came the gruff, pleading cry. That voice… She knew that voice… She spun around, her eyes moving to the wolf that charged through the line of ghouls, sending undead parts scattering. A massive hammer swung through the air, much like the favored weapon of the Silver Hand, and slammed hard into one of the liches that were completing the spell.

"Thrall!" She gasped out, watched Frostmourne lift between her and the oncoming Doomhammer. The magnificent weapons clashed together, sparks bursting from the contact, and Thrall shifted his grip to swing again. She reached out, still sluggish from the effects of the Lich King's powerful mind, but a hand wrapped around her waist and hoisted her backwards, pressing her robes against freezing cold metal. The orc leapt from his mouth to engage in melee combat, and fought for her tooth and nail. She was beyond pleading for him, and beyond the ability to fight; both broken and cold inside.

* * *

Far from that horrible place, an undead contorted in pain. He held one hand against his waist, holding in his internals and with it the power that kept his dead bones moving. He worked slowly, carefully, wedging the crowbar under the lid of the barrel. He lifted himself into the air and placed all his weight on the crowbar, and sighed in relief as the lid came off. The teleportation scroll he clutched in one hand was forgotten as his golden eyes shut in pain. Five… Three….

The undead around Thrall screamed as their final efforts finally procured the portal. The ghouls burst almost instantaneously, crumbling into distorted heaps, and the liches slowly began to implode. Arthas himself stepped backwards into the portal as his armor contorted and warped. Unbeknowst to anyone but herself, Jaina let a small trinket drop to the ground, and then she was gone through the violet portal, and the unstable doorway to another world closed behind her. Thrall fell inches short, roaring in disbelief and frustration as he once more failed to save the sorcerer… All around him, undead bodies burst and crumbled, collapsing into the gory pieces that comprised their remains. The undead Forsaken that had striven against all odds to open the barrel had, in doing so, released Sylvanis's antitoxin directly next to the necropolis. Though the effort destroyed him, it completed its purpose. The undead invasion on Theramore ended on one front, and the undead- newly risen and imported from Northrend- backed off from whence they had came, slinking back into the ocean and swamps. The antitoxin itself, however, though it quickly lost its poisonous quality, at last reached the undead Cauldrons that pumped forth the Plague. It tainted them- slowly but surely- and by the time any one in Theramore had the stomach to eat, the Plague had been cleared of their food, water, and air.

The Cauldrons, now all pumping forth the Plague-defeating antitoxin, served one final purpose. The corpses that remained buried in or around Theramore, continued to be reanimated. These undead, however, were quickly discovered and slaughtered, as they showed none of the Scourge combat readiness. In fact, most of them seemed a bit dazed to find themselves awake again. These new undead were Forsaken, with no guidance due to the death of the antitoxin operators, were almost entirely annihilated.

* * *

Thrall was silent a moment, standing still and clutching the Doomhammer with a strength that turned his knuckles white. The hammer was held rigid, almost as if ready to strike... But there was no more work for it to do... It drooped, and its weilder cursed horribly, sinking to his knees and closing his eyes tightly. Such a sign of weakness was unusual in an orc warrior, but no one noticed him in the chaos of the island. He was allowed a moment to mentally attack himself for his failure to protect the little human and to repay her for the death of her father. Guilt and pain built up in his breast, and he opened his eyes, _still_ not fully comprehending the fact that it was over. He had lost, he had failed, and he had let Jaina Proudmoore die. As the full reality slowly sank in, he simply stared in mute shock and disappointment at where his ally had vanished just seconds before. That was it?

That was it… He hadn't gotten there fast enough… And so…A glint caught his eyes, and he blinked, reaching forward and feeling through the blight. His hand touched something metallic, and he plucked it from the ground, drawing it to himself for examination. It was a pendant, inscribed with a ship and a dolphin.

_Jaina's_. His mind insisted, and it seized upon that truth and ran with it. Like all shaman, he had a deep tie to the spiritual. This object was precious to Jaina, else she would not have had it with her. That meant that, with proper meditation, he could theoretically pinpoint her, granted that she was not already dead. As Arthas had been known to have romantic ties with Jaina Proudmoore in the past, and as he had not killed her outright, it was evident he had something special planned for the fiery young sorcerer, though Thrall could not imagine what. That meant there was time… Time enough to find her.

Of course, he had to assemble an army, concoct an invasion, and some how escort this entire army to wherever Athras happened to be while keeping a force large enough to protect Theramore at the Isle and…

He had to try… Thrall had failed Jaina enough times already. Her eyes came to him, pleading for salvation from the monster she had been unable to defeat…

* * *

Out of all the dead buried in the swamps, laid to rest in the ocean, or found within the stable earth of the island itself, only a scarce few were enclosed entirely in a rock tomb, incapable of reaching the surface. These particular beings just so happened to be lucky enough to receive the reanimating antitoxin, and so, when they awoke, they were the only Forsaken to survive the slaughter of the undead above. It was hours later before one of them finally forced his way out of his tomb. By this time, the news that Jaina Proudmoore had been _kidnapped_ by the undead was running around like wildfire. Tauran druids knelt, helping to heal the wounded humans. High Elf priests mended the cuts and festering gores of wounded orcs. The island was a beautiful utopia of chaotic harmony, as green skin and pink secured its borders buildings.

The new Forsaken was intelligent enough to understand a battle had just recently taken place, and it hid in the shadows, trying to understand the nature of the beings running frantically about. After some time, the scene calmed down, and the undead was entreated to an orc warrior, mounted on a wolf, charge down the street to meet with a Blademaster. The mounted orc gave orders hastily in Common, the language that the Chief was most fluent in despite his racial background- "Have a Wyvern sent to the Night Elves immediately! With luck, we will be able to reach Jaina before-" His quick eyes noticed the figure moving, and the blue orbs opened wide in horror and amazement as the undead stepped from the shadows, brandishing an ornate scimitar.

"Where is she?" he hissed out through decayed lips. Thrall didn't answer, mute with astonishment, so the undead repeated his demand: "Where is my _daughter_, beast!"

"She's being held captive by the lord of the Scourge, Arthas. I do not know her exact location, but, with a few hours of meditation, I should be able to use my Shamanistic gift to determine her whereabouts. If you desire that she be found, I suggest you lower that scimitar, as I am the only one currently here who can claim to know the Lady Proudmoore in person and to have the gift of Shamanism."

"Elegant words for an orc," he snarled without faltering. "I shall never owe you a debt!" With that, the previously dead Admiral Daelin Proudmoore hacked his scimitar at the orc.

Sadly (Or perhaps amusingly), the undead's skill and grace had been much diminished after several years below the cold earth, and the Warchief turned the blade aside easily and grabbed him by the collar, knocking him out easily with a powerful cuff to the head. Then, Thrall grimaced, dropping the decaying corpse with disgust, and wiped his hand off on the fur of his wolf.

"Send word to Sylvanis as well," he said darkly to the orc he had previously been speaking to. "I want to know_ exactly_ what happened here."

* * *

Northrend

Jaina tore out of the Lich King's arms as the portal closed, but there was little place to go. She was surrounded by mountains and undead buildings. Wildly, she plunged toward the mountains, darting away, her vigor restored. All she could think about was to get away from those terrible eyes and that horrible, dominating mind. She found herself a crevice and crawled inside it, drawing her knees up to her chin and shuddering violently. The light pouring into her crevice vanished after many long moments, and she suppressed a scream. The cloaked, armored figure entered her small sanctuary, violating its safety. Swiftly, Arthas moved toward her, crouching to peer into her hidden alcove. She looked away from him

"_Jaina…"_ the soft, ethereal voice murmured, but she refused to look at him. Cold, metal knuckles brushed against her chin and cheek and she quivered, clutching herself tighter. The fingertips moved from her face to her hair, pushing a freezing, red rose gently into her blond locks. _"…Jaina…"_ Frozen tears touched her cheeks again, and she shivered as a plated hand reached up, gently cupping the far side of her face. Another hand moved into her hood, gently stroking her blonde hair. She shivered, holding out for a long, long time under the slow and gently caresses that froze her inside and out.

But afterthat long time, he came closer, pushing her hair tenderly behind her ear. She quivered, breathing raggedly as he traced over her cheek and gently brushed over her eyelashes. A body neared hers- cold, and metallic, and scenting only of ice and wind. Breath barely warm enough to make fog sent light waves of vapor over her. She shuddered, starting to shiver violently as the edge of his cloak slid into place half around her, blocking out the light of the outside world and the brilliant gold rays of the sun. _"…Jaina…" _the ethereal voice called softy, sending light vapor over her cheek. She whimpered and he smiled that horrible, dark smile again, chuckling softly. _"I'm here…"_ he murmured sweetly. She let her head turn at last, and he guided it gently, slowly, till her eyes were almost fixed on him. He was so near her, his blue eyes gazing down at her… Blue with wicked, yellow-cyan depths…

Cyan… Just like Varimathras's eyes… Just like her own… What did that mean? Her eyes moved to his, locking in place once more. Arthas smiled more, knowing he had finally ensnared her, and comfortable that he had all the time in the world. More tears slowly formed at the corners of her eyes as he gently, seemingly absently twined her hair with two fingers. She shivered, slowly lifting a hand to his face and touching his cold, rugged cheek. She felt slowly over the face she knew so well, marking how it had changed. He did not twitch as her fingers slowly traced around his eye, and she had the feeling he would not blink unwillingly, even if she were to prod said optical receptor. That though trailed away like so many others, though it made a tearful smile touch her lips and eyes.

His face neared hers once more, their faces almost brushing, his blue, yellow, and cyan eyes filling her vision.

"A… Arthas…" she whispered. He touched her lips gently, and she quieted her protests. Then her eyes widened as his head tilted, his lips slowly meeting hers at last. She shivered at the sheer volume of the cold that suddenly filled her, her eyes fluttering shut. He moved forward, surrounding her small body with his and pressing the back of her hair gently, keeping herfrom breakingthe kiss. Tears flitted from her closed eyes as she held the face of one whom she had once loved. She knew that strong chin… that noble arch of the nose… the long, silky hair… She knew his face as well as she knew her father's… As well as Antonidas's… As well as… the face of one orc she knew so well… Thrall… Her eyes opened again, staring in some horror at the man she kissed with such subconscious love. Thrall. He'd tried to save her… He'd called her name... Look away Jaina… Look away…

_Close your eyes… So you do not have to see…_

Her eyes shut again as her tears ceased. She relaxed, slowly lulled by the gentle, rhythmic caress against her back and hair. Her defenses dissolved against the probing, overwhelming will of the lich king… And, deep within her own mind, a tiny memory, a tiny part of herself, hid itself in order to save its own existence. For several hours, she breathed in only the cold aura of the Death Knight as he cradled her, and her instincts broke down one by one. Her fear melted into calm apathy. Her shivers ceased attempting to warm her body. Her mind sank down into endless, mindless sludge.

At last, after those several, long hours, he lifted his head, pulling out of the kiss. Jaina breathed in sharply, as if the clean, unpolluted air of the mountain range hurt her. She quickly relaxed as his gauntleted hand leaned her cheek against his breast plate. His fingertips stirred her hair for a moment, and, with his thumb, he lightly scratched a line into her cheek. She did not respond. Arthas allowed himself a grin of satisfaction. Swiftly, he scooped her body up into his arms, and he stood and left the mountain, carrying her back to the undead capital of Northrend. She was limp and apathetic in his arms, her eyes gazing out unseeing and uninterested at the white landscape. The tiny, surviving piece of her conscious, buried itself deep, terrified and quiet within her own mind.

* * *

Oh dear. Aren't I a terrible author to do this to you? Well! That leaves some questions.

1) Who killed the undead at the docks? It seemed a bit powerful and... gore-loving to be a mindless undead. Plus, one of the undead murmured out some name begging with the letter "L"

2) What on earth is Arthas going to do with Jain? Who's going to save her? And

3) What the heck are we gonna do with her wacko dad! The man is a complete LOON!

Don't you love how I snuck that quote: "_Close your eyes… So you do not have to see…"_ again? Normally we only get to see that quote when hanging around Ketala. And it looks like Sylvanis's plans didn't work so good. Someone knew about her plot and tried to stop her from executing it! Now she's gonna get in trouble for knowing the undead would attack Theramore!

Now see that nice Review button? Just click it and type! Type away my little typists! Or just say Hi and let me know how you're doing :P Please? Pretty Please? Pretty Please with sugar on top:Gets on knees and begs:

I love you all! Thank you to all you people who read this fic, even if you don't review, and I hope you like it! Please let me know what you think!

**YARG!**


	26. Oh Living How I Hate Thee

I LIIIIIVVVEEE! BAHAHAHAHAH!

Whoa O.o sorry everyone. I had a massive RPG Maker addiction, lots of homework, and an irritating Visual C+ to figure out. Yep, you guessed it, I only satisfied the first two.

But I"m still writing fanfiction, despite the malady of the video game addiction:_clutches her RPG Maker tightly as she rifts through stacks of books about dragon breeds: _Well, that and ...So... much... schoolwork... Anyhoo, yeth reminded me I have a fanfic out there that I love and must nurture accordingly. Forgive me for my weakness. :_eyes RPG Maker Longingly...: _NO! I MUST RESIST! I HAVE A STORY TO WRITE!

I'm not going to **Yarg** at you today, seeing as I so miserably failed to update quickly last time. I will, however, tell you that your reviews delighted me to no end, and thoroughly raised my confidence. You even gave me some good ideas. Yay! Please continue to review. Yes, that means you. The casual viewer who reads the story, thinks its very good, and is (quite like myself) too impatient to click that review button! YOU MUST DO IT! DO IT! DO IT! DO IT! Oh... Sorry... Right...

Happy October everyone! I'm going as a predator again. Last year some Jock dad pointed me out to his little toddler boy and said "Oooh! See that guy, son? Isn't he scarrrrryy?" At which I pointed out i was female, and he replied "Oh.". And that was the end of that. I think I was both flattered to be scary and irritated that a female wasn't expected to dress up as a monster. Anyhoodie, here's the chapter!

* * *

Oh Living, How I Hate Thee.

* * *

Theramore Isle 

Daelin shifted his head, grunting lightly as he was assaulted by pain piercing from the back of his skull. The pain dimmed quickly, and he listened to the environment around him. Nothing. Not a sound. He lifted his eyes, looking around in his dimly lit cell. He was shackled heavily to the wall of some prison.

Now if only he could remember how he had gotten there…

The orc… The orc had spoke of Jaina… That she'd been kidnapped… Admiral Proudmoore groaned inwardly, ashamed at how easily he'd been defeated. How had that been possible? The orc had turned away his scimitar with his bare hands! As if he had done no more then throw a feather at the green beast!

"I see you're up," said a noble voice. He lifted his head sharply, his eyes searching through the darkness for the speaker.

"What of it?"

"You don't feel yourself, do you? You feel weaker, as if age had softened your body," said a feminine voice. His hands clenched, his eyes flaming angrily. "There is a reason for that. If you will agree to hear us out in a calm and rational fashion, we shall explain to you why it is you do not feel yourself."

"And my daughter?"

"We will explain her situation as well."

"Then, if your intentions are so innocent, why am I currently in chains?"

"You are an extremely volatile person, Admiral Proudmoore." His eyes narrowed, but he lifted his head.

"Speak, then."

"Do you remember first coming to Theramore?"

"..Yes…"

"You found Jaina here- well and alive, and you rejoiced over it."

"Yes… "

"But…?"

"I remember…. that… the mislead child had attempted to make peace with the orcs…"

"So you took over and launched an invasion against the orcs. You knew they had to be wiped out immediately, but you knew that Jaina would surely see the reason behind your actions in time."

"The orcs are nothing but monsters," he said, his brows furrowing together as more and more memories came back to him.

"But Jaina wasn't the child she appeared. She hadn't become the beloved leader of Theramore for nothing. The sorceress bypassed you all together in order to help the orcs." The Admiral tensed, eyes widening.

"She helped the orcs through your defenses. She believed that if she aided the orcs in the cause of peace, her people would be forgiven for your actions."

"She was a foolish, naïve child," he grit out, the onset of that battle playing through his mind.

"Ah, but the orcs succeeded, did they not? A Mok'Nathal, a half orc, half ogre, made its way to combat you. Who won?"

"I did, of course! Else I would not be here before you today!" he yelled, moving slightly out of his memories.

"Think of your answer more carefully!" Just as quickly as he had nearly left his memories, he was immersed in them once more, and his face contorted in horror and disbelief as he stared out at the scene playing in his mind.

"It can't… I… What-?"

"One year ago, a paladin by the name of Ketala Truae turned the tides against the Scourge back from the dead city of Lordaeron. The Lich King, Lord of the Scourge, sought a way to replenish his mindless hordes. The Lich King and Arthas Menethil are one at the same, their minds fused together. In a perverse sense of irony, Arthas chose Jaina to be his next victim, and so set out to destroy Theramore. I was warned, almost too late to do a thing, of Arthas's plot. Knowing that his acolytes already infused Theramore, and that it was too late to save the island, I had antitoxin stored around the island. This antitoxin, when released, would be poisonous to all life and all unlife with a body temperature lower then human norm. As acolytes have a slightly lower body temperature, it would also purge Theramore of Arthas's human servants. Then it would infiltrate the sources of the Scourge Plague and cause a further antitoxin to be produced. That would ensure that none of Theramore's foodstuffs would be contaminated, and none of the living would be transformed into the ghoulish scourge.

"Someone warned him of my counterattack, however. Most of the antitoxin barrels were destroyed, and the Scourge Plague brought back most of the dead around Theramore to life, augmenting Arthas's hordes. For some reason, he was content with kidnapping Jaina and then vanishing with her- meaning that she might still be alive. One of my barrels of antitoxin was opened, and the Scourge was purged from the city. While the chemicals in that barrel could not destroy the Scourge Plague caldrons, it could change the reanimating properties of them. Instead of being resurrected as Scourge, you have been brought back with free will. I had established a temporary base nearby, and when I was alerted to the partial failure of my counterattack, I returned here. That is where we are now- a prison on Theramore."

The Admiral stared up at the feminine voice in mute horror, suddenly aware of the way his jaw was broken, of how cold he was, of the dead skin hanging from his hands, and of the cold, empty pit in his torso where he had been hit by Rexxar's axe.

"Arthas's base is in Northrend, a frozen continent above the Maelstrom," continued the masculine voice. "Through meditation, I have pinpointed your daughter's location- and she is in Northrend. The only way to approach it is by sea, and we need a quick and powerful strategy if we are to rescue Jaina. Miss Proudmoore was the keenest mind we had for strategy on the water, and in her stead, I suppose _you_ will have to take her place- that is, if you still desire to rescue her."

"Who the hell are you?" he gasped out, trying in vain not to look at his own destroyed body. A match flickered on, and a candle was lit, illuminating the fierce visage of a burly orc dressed in intimidating black armor. For a brief moment, Daelin was almost worried he was facing Orgrim Doomhammer again.

"My name is Thrall, Admiral." He smiled grimly, stepping forward and illuminating the human's undead body even more. "I do not believe we have yet met on such pleasant terms."

"Your kind are all the same- why should I help you?"

"Because we orcs honor our alliances. I fought side by side with Jaina Proudmoore. We bled together, sacrificed together, and fought together to save this new land from the rampages of demonic forces. She saved my sworn brother from demonic corruption, and her name is held in the highest esteem by every person currently dwelling in Kalimdor, for the role she played in saving this world! She is beloved by her people for the lack of tyranny and hate that they live with, and when her fleets are busy doing battle on the other side of the world, the trolls send their destroyers to hunt naga from her waters to spare her fishing vessels, and the Elves divert half their trade to her tiny island! She is no naïve child, and, I for one will not abandon her to death! Has the bloodline of humans fallen so low that an orc will fight for the life of a friend, but a human will not fight for the life of a daughter!"

"NEVER!"

"Then look past your blind racism," the Warchief demanded darkly. "I owe the Lady Proudmoore too many debts already, and whether you like it or not, _you_ are going to help me rescue her if you want out of those bonds."

"I will help you rescue her, but never think for a moment that I do it _because_ of _you!_"

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

* * *

(Cont.)

The Admiral followed the orc begrudgingly up the stairs, trying not to look at his own decayed limbs. He looked around as he left the prison, grimacing as he heard something snap. This was going to take some time to get used to. The orc turned and regarded him with eyes that stubbornly refused to show disgust, as if Thrall were above showing such petty emotions. Still, Daelin had the distinct feeling that the green beast pitied him, and that knowledge infuriated him all the more. It did not do to be pitted by a bloodthirsty animal.

"And what, exactly," he asked, allowing none of his discomfort and all of his disdain to enter his tone, "does the _great_ _Warchief_ expect me to do?"

"First," the green behemoth said with measured distaste, "I suggest you relearn how to use your limbs, or you won't be any use to anyone." The Admiral tensed, but turned his head as he heard a being come up from behind him. This entity must have been the source of the feminine voice from the prison, and he was curious to see what being could have the voice of an elf and ally itself with orcs- and _trolls,_ the moral enemies of the elves. He drew back in some surprise as he was greeted with the ghoulish expression of the undead banshee, watching as she stepped forward into the light. She smiled wryly down at him, though she evidently shared the orc's dislike of him.

"Another bigoted human. Just what we need," she said, testing her bow string with delicate, white fingertips. "You, dear Admiral, will be coming with me." His eyes flamed.

"_What?_"

"Oh?" she asked with mock surprise. "Would you rather stay here with the orcs?" He grimaced, wishing he had the comforting presence of his scimitar at his side. "As the bulk of Theramore's fleets are currently blockading the Eastern Plaguelands, and as our teleportation master is the female we are attempting to rescue, it logically follows that we will have to manually, and tediously sail out to the ships in order to give them the news of their leader's kidnapping. As you are to be the commander of said fleets- granted they accept a bigoted zombie as their leader- it is only reasonable that you return to the Eastern Plagulands with us. As our ships were once human ships, I believe you shall regain your sea-legs better on the voyage back to the Eastern Kingdoms on our craft. Therefore, you will be coming with me, and the orcs will be remaining in Kalimdor, where they belong."

"What motive could you possibly have for rescuing her?" he asked darkly.

"Oh… Diplomatic reasons… As I failed to protect Theramore from the entirety of the Plague, it will further my purposes to see Miss Proudmoore unharmed. And…" she paused and smiled with horrible malice, "I have a personal… vendetta… against the Litch King." She turned her head and looked at Thrall. "Orgrimmar and the Undercity should not undertake this endeavor alone. Arthas is crippled, but he is in no way weak."

"But what allies could we call upon?"

"I have sent word to the Western Plaguelands that Ketala is to attempt to sway Stormwind in favor of this escapade. Even if she can do more then get the remnants of the Silver Hand to agree to a temporary ceasefire, it will do wonders for the success of this undertaking."

"The Silver Hand will do at least that for the leader of Theramore," agreed Thrall. "Cairne is currently in Moonglade, so I shall send word to him to negotiate a temporary enforced cease-fire with the Night Elves."

"The night elves might agree to temporary peace, but they will not help us in this endeavor. The undead are not a direct threat or problem to them, and Malfurion and Tyrande will stay out of the conflict in order to appease their people."

"No… But might Zul'vii and Illidan be coaxed into aiding us? The situation in Felwood is calming down, and they do not need a great portion of their forces in the woods at any time."

"Illidan needs no coaxing. He will leap at the opportunity to strike back at Arthas. But his forces might not be thrilled to go off on a wild goose chase to them."

"Create half of a petition to send to them. I shall have Vol'jin construct the other half, in order that it be well received by Zul'vii and her people."

"Me?"

"Yes. The Blood Elf Leader might be persuaded into action by you." Sylvanis paused, musing over this and over Kael's affections for the Lady Jaina Proudmoore.

"That will still only bolster our forces so much."

"It is the best that we can hope for."

"Your forces are already stretched very thin. You do not have enough ships to conduct an operation of this size."

"Then the Night Elves will have to sell us plenty of lumber in order that Ashenvale need not fall entirely to the blades of our axes."

"You are certainly ready to risk everything in order that this attack succeeds."

"It is not honorable to abandon one's allies." Sylvanis suddenly smiled sweetly.

"I shall try to remember that…" she said softly, before beckoning for the Admiral to follow, and starting off. Daelin took one last disgusted look between the two leaders, and then he begrudgingly followed the Banshee. This whole thing was mad.

* * *

Moonglade

Malfurion was currently tending his hippogriff, preparing it for the long journey to Tedrassil. As he did so, he watched the unicorn girl dance happily around a small tree, giggling and pausing to watch a butterfly land on her nose. Where her hooves touched the ground, the grass thickened, and the small plants strengthened. She was truly a marvel of nature. The Archdruid turned his head as the heavy footfalls of Cairne approached.

"What news?" The Tauran heaved a heavy sigh, seating himself comfortably against a tree and setting down his axe, resting his old bones.

"Two things have been made known to me. One came by Wyvern flight… One came through the spirits… The first is that the Scourge invaded Theramore by marching beneath the waves to its shores." Malfurion paled. "The Lady Jaina Proudmoore has been kidnapped, although the spirits assure Thrall and myself that she is not yet dead… or undead… The orcs are preparing an invasion against Northrend- compensation, you could say, for some debts the Warchief feels he owes the Lady… And out of honor and loyalty… The Forsaken Undead of the Eastern Kingdoms are helping in this endeavor… And Thrall has given me two letters to have sent to your brother, and to the cousin of the Troll Leader Vol'jin, a female half-troll by the name of Zul'vii. Due to the fact that Illidan desires revenge on Arthas, they believe he will be quite willing to help." Cairne shifted as Malfurion absorbed this information.

"He desires that our nations negotiate a temporary ceasefire. And he asks that you open trade for lumber freely. Thrall has no desire to further harm the forests of Ashenvale, despite the fact that the lumber from the Warsong clan is still used in Orgrimmar. It disturbs the spirits of the earth. He knows your wisps can harvest the lumber without harm to the forest, and that is why he asks."

"Our wisps have been stretched thin. Most of the great spirits gave their lives in order to defend the Well of Eternity and the World Tree."

"He knows this. He suggests this deficiency be exploited in the name of peace. Anscestral spirits are not only found in the Moonglade. Our lands south of here are filled with them. He hopes that our shamans, together with all our druids, may be able to help call some wisps to our aid. However, I will return to the matter of a cease-fire. Thrall is already spreading his forces thin. This is why he desires the lumber- because he needs more ships. He is already attempting to safeguard his own coastline, Thereamore, deal with hostile humans off and on the coast, deal with warlock fanatics, and launch this invasion on Northrend."

Malfurion was silent, regarding Thrall a long moment and then looking back at the happy unicorn child. "Tell Thrall that the Night Elves will look after Theramore till Jaina is returned, and that he need not occupy his ships there." Cairne nodded his great head, and he, too, looked over at the dancing, white, equine being.

"Perhaps I have been sending the wrong style of diplomat," he reflected. "Archdruid… I wonder if you would like to show Awëö other aspects of nature and life." Malfurion blinked, looking at the Tauran. "Perhaps… She should visit the Night Elves… As a different style of ambassador?" Shan'do Stormrage smiled lightly.

"I would bring her with me, and with honor. Perhaps she will be a symbol of unity and peace to both our peoples. When would you like to have her back in Thunderbluff by?"

"We could alternate guardianship over her with every new moon…"

"Perfect." He paused, thinking a moment. "What was the second message you bore?"

"Your wife desires to see you immediately upon your arrival at Tedrassil."

* * *

The Western Plaguelands

The horse leaped forward, prancing effortlessly down the Road to Hearthglen. The Scarlet City was situated north of the great lumber mills in the Western Plaguelands, and far north of Andorhal and Uther's tomb, with the Bulwark being southwest of it. The rider of this aforementioned horse was armored as a paladin, in thick steel plate embroidered some places with gold. The mark of the silver hand was etched upon that rider's breast, and engraved powerfully into the armor of the steed. The paladin also held a lance aloft, its tip facing the sky. A white flag, ¾ of the way up gleaming length of the weapon, fluttered like a splice between a dove wing and a ship sail. It was the sign of peace. Behind this rider, two more followed. Both of these carried lances. As they ensemble of three moved forward, several more riders appeared behind, armed with crossbows and maces.

The party approached the gates of the Scarlet Crusade Complex, and halted their mounts, waiting to be received- or shot at. Apparently the Scarlet Crusade missed outside Human contact enough to consider the Silver Hand 'allies' for a brief moment, for the great gates opened. From within Hearthglen rode several officials, half in the robes of a priest or monk and the half in the armor of a paladin. Of the group, not a single one sported a color besides bloody crimson or righteous gold. Even their stallions- for that was the nature of the beasts they rode- were yellowish or roan. They reeked of holy fanaticism and blatant bigotry, but they approached with a reasonable air and welcomed the Silver Hand Paladins to their 'humble abode'.

"It is good to see other followers of the Light in this forsaken wasteland! What is the occasion for the broken (And that, in itself, was an insult, a biased claim that the Silver hand had been ruined by lack of faith and lack of divine support) Silver Hand to ride out here? Or, perhaps, after seeing the evil we fight against, and the divine purpose of our Crusade, you have decided to join us?"

"Nay," said one follower of the main paladin, stepping forward and removing his helmet. The reader of this tale, were he or she witnessing these events in person, would remember this man as Ander, the red-haired and bearded man who encouraged Ketala to fight when she was an apprentice in Stormwind, and whom later was confronted by Euquin.

Now Ander was dressed in full Paladin apparel, and was, for some reason, out in the Western Plaguelands visiting a Scarlet Crusade outpost. At the moment, he was a bit scruffy, having ridden hard and long from Andorhal.

With this information, the reader may draw his or her own conclusions about who the lead Paladin was.

"Nay," repeated Ander. "We come baring news from the world beyond the Plaguelands, from Stormwind itself, and we plea for the Crusade to hear out the council we offer on grave matters." The official frowned lightly, but he nodded.

"Come, then. We will discuss this where none of the wretched undead may trod or listen." Ander nodded, following the Scarlet Crusade officials through the great gates, and into one of the top-ten-most-biased-and-prejudiced-cities-of-the-world- the small citadel known by the name of Hearthglen.

They were lead up to a town hall, which had been fortified and was currently swamped with soldiers embroidered in bold red and gold. The leader paladin gazed around at this warriors, noting the fiery zeal in their eyes and sword-arms. As Uther had said- the only boldness about the Scarlet Crusade is in its presentation. Substance lacks. One joins the Crusade because one wants vengeance. One wants to bring death and suffering in return for one's pains. The lowest a human can ever fall is not into magic, but into hatred and apathy for one's fellow beings. Even Illidan, whom would kill his own people in order to ensure success, understood the value of life itself. Uther had pointed out that The Scarlet Crusade was exactly the same as Arthas. Its members sought vengeance at the cost of innocent life, and this vengance would lead them- through hatred- to the path of apathy and mindless evil.

But enough of Uther's teachings.

They entered the town hall, and were lead into a room with a single long table. The Silver hand seated itself on one long-side of the table, and the Scarlet Crusade placed itself on the other. Those that wore helmets removed them- all but the leader paladin and the guards of the Silver Hand. The head Paladin sat off to the side as an observer would. It was clear that the particular leader would not be participating in the upcoming discussion.

Despite their curiosity on the subject of the silent paladin, it was only polite for the Scarlet Crusade officials to take no notice, and so they began the conversation with the simple question:

"What news from Stormwind?" Ander, whom had taken responsibility as the spokesman of the group, answered,

"I know that contact with Stormwind is both scarce and sparse. Are you informed about the Western Continent of Kalimdor."

"We have heard rumors. It is the Plaguelands- not extra continents- that concerns us."

"It is a long tale. To be brief, the Lady Jaina Proudmore, Princess of Kul Tiras (And that name held as much power as Stormwind), set up an island kingdom by the name of "Theramore" there. She was recently stolen away from Theramore, and that, ironically enough, is somewhat related to why the undead have retreated from the bulk of the Western Plaguelands." The official frowned curiously. "The Scarlet Crusade has championed the fight against the Scourge here in the Plaguelands, and may be the sole reason the undead have not yet spread down into human lands, but it was another force that tore asunder the Scourge lines. I believe you are familiar with the Argent Dawn and the Bulwark?"

"Yes… Those misled blasphemers have allied themselves with one faction of the undead. We've been trying to convert them."

"We baited one of the leaders of the undead- for, as you know, the undead are mindless save in their upper ranks, and will do whatever the Litch King or his closest followers command. We baited a certain lich, and he fell into our trap, assaulting the Bulwark. There he met with the Forsaken Army and a large group of priests, paladins, and various other combatants. We slaughtered every opponent undead in that battle. Though, I assure you, it was not a pleasant experience to fight alongside other undead."

"Which lich?" said one of the Scarlet Crusade, a peculiar man with his red-gold hood drawn down mostly over his face.

"Kel'Thuzad himself." There were murmurs that spread through the officials, some of them looking ready to attack Ander, shake him, and denounce him a blasphemer and a mad-man for even mentioning the concept of an alliance with undead, but Ander did not wait, and he continued immediately. "Arthas was left with a great portion of his forces crippled or slain. To replenish his hordes, he launched a quick invasion of Theramore isle, raising the dead from the graves. He kidnapped- though we are certain, through prayer and other means, that she is not dead- the Lady Proudmoore. This sparked the desire to Invade Northrend at last in the rest of the world, as we should have done from the beginning."

This comment was received with a much better attitude, and it delighted the Scarlet Crusade, placating or riling them up in all the correct areas. However, the peculiar official mentioned beforehand spoke up.

"From what we have heard, Theramore was not in high favor with Stormwind."

"No, the island was not. Theramore was once forced to ally with orcs against demons. Because they succeeded in repelling a great demonic threat from the world, they established a form of peace. However, Theramore and it's leader _were_ loyal to the alliance. When we heard word that, of all creatures, **_Orcs_** were planning to stage a rescue when we were not, we were convinced we needed to invade. No _orc_ will ever call a human dishonorable for abandoning their allies and need!" While this final statement was received with approval, there were still frowns.

"The Humans and Orcs will invade Northrend _together?_" one asked sharply.

"It is worse then even that," Ander said darkly, as if he were this fanatic's peer and were talking behind the back of some unseen leader. To them, he appeared liked-minded and sympathetic to their cause. "Even the _Forsaken_ say they will help invade Northrend, in order that The Betrayer (Arthas) may be destroyed. If we do not go, we will be indebted to the _undead_, and the murder of King Terenas, Last True King of Lordaeron, will be revenged by _ghouls_!"

Roars of disapproval and condemnation greeted this. It was fortunate that the crusade could be swayed with hatred to help, quite joyfully, the very things they hated. Unfortunately, they were far too spiteful to help so peaceably.

"We shall redouble our attacks on the Forsaken to keep them here!" Ander sighed, and gravely shook his head.

"The Betrayer is powerful. As much as it plagues me to say this… We need their aid."

"But they will turn on you the moment the Scourge are dead!"

"We think their motives can be trusted. They have sworn-"

"There is no honor among undead! That is why none of them are capable of being Paladins!"

A noise of dissent was made, and several of the officials turned to look at the helmeted paladin sitting a bit off to the side, the silent leader that had rode in at the head of the Silver Hand party. When the being spoke, it was in a rich, and strangely accented feminine voice.

"I disagree. Though few and far between, there are undead paladins." She was stared at incredulously.

"It is known for a fact that holy light damaged anything undead it touches. The undead are forsaken by the light- gross macabre demons inhabiting rotting human flesh," said one of the armored men.

"Again, I disagree. Whilst the Scourge are as you have described undead, the Forsaken are nothing at all like that. They woke up one day, cold and alone, went to find their families, and were driven away by torches, pitchforks, and screams by the wives they loved, the parents they respected, and the children they cherished." They paladins were all glaring at her, evidently collecting their thoughts for what would be a firm rebuking. "Undead are capable of becoming paladins. Most are soured with undead, remaining but shadows of whom they once were. Others, however, are accepted by the light. There are always exceptions to rules."

"Point out one!" said one of the guards nearby challenging, a young man with fiery red hair to match his dress."

"Well, myself for one…"

An awkward silence ensued, in which everyone stared at the paladin. The continued to stare as she lifted a hand, pulling off the mail glove, and exposed fingers as white as death.

"And I for another," spoke up one of the guards, coming to her side. This time, the Crusade reacted. Weapons were drawn. Guards moved forward with spears and swords, circling not only the two undead paladins but the human ones as well. Anyone who was an undead sympathizer was as bad as an undead itself. "Blessing of Protection!" said the female and male paladins unanimously, Holy light blossoming around them and framing their bodies, warding off the blows. "Ah! Scarlet Crusade, where are your words now? You say that the ability to be a paladin defines a race as good or evil, yet when you see an undead paladin, you change your mind? The undead are always evil, even if the light has blessed them? For shame! You sully the teachings of your priests!"

"Silence Scourge witch!" called one paladin, charging at her with a sword. He received, instead of blood, an explosive shearing of holy light, hurling him to the side, even though it did not rend into him with the force that it would an undead.

"Your faith is weaker than mine," she said simply. "Would you like to test it further? I am a paladin! I was trained under the Order of the Silver Hand, and have never been injured by The Light! I challenge any of you here to deny that!"

"No undead can be a paladin! The Silver Hand is a fallen order!"

"Then smite me," she dared. And so he did- and so stood unflinchingly as the hasty, hatred-filled slice of gold energy glanced over her armor.

Ketala had full faith in the angelic blood in her veins and in the compassion in her heart. She had seen the Mahi save her 'people', her undead, from the Scarlet Crusade with purity of faith and love. She had watched that angelic being stand upon the battlefield, and purge the evil, mindless monstrosities of the Scarlet Crusade with a thought. Ketala had watched, through the eyes of her undead, the Scarlet Crusade fail to summon the light…

But more, she had seen the mercy and the goodness of the Mahi, even unto her enemies. Ketala knew, in her heart of hearts, that this was the purest form of divine faith- this love of all beings.

Uther had taught her well in the time she had spent in Andorhal, and, before that, Gydrion had done well instructing her in Stormwind. She knew that if she was right, the light would not destroy her, and if she was wrong, she would probably rather be destroyed. What God in Heaven could be claimed as to being perfect goodness… and yet endorse such lack of anything remotely good?

The first smite failed. The second failed. More of them rent into her armor, tearing at the soft spots of leather in her apparel. They traced over her skin, scratching like the claws of beasts, as if hooks were being pulled through her body, and yet she did not move. She held still, staring them down. And when the priests and paladins were too exhausted to throw any more holy energy at her, they merely stared at her, watching in stark amazement as she glanced down at her body. She lifted a hand, calling a gentle, white, holy flame, and she let it run over her body, sealing the deep ruts and light scratches with effortless ease, and watching the scant, motionless, heartless blood soak back into her skin. Then she looked up at the paladins. Even her fellow, undead companion was staring at her in something resembling awe (she could not entirely tell, his helmet was on).

"Smite me," she dared again. And this time, the guards attacked her. Instantaneously she had her scimitars out, blazing with holy light, and she batted away weapons, knocking combatants aside for what seemed like hours. At last, the town hall was very quiet, and the Scarlet warriors sat or lay around her, breathing hard or unconscious. The officials stood in a ring around her and her undead companion- the only opening being in the direction of the other Silver Hand Paladins, whom were staring with similar awe.

"Smite me." Her voice was soft this time, the golden glow blazing around her and from her beautiful blades. "Do any of you still challenge my faith and my calling?" Her male undead counterpart laid a hand gently on her right arm, and she turned her head to peer at him from beneath her helmet.

_Do not let your eyes whirl red,_ he cautioned gently.

_I would not think of it,_ she replied.

_Good. They are stunned enough. Let Ander and his men council them. With luck, they will hear us out._

_We need a bit more than luck. These men delude themselves into denying their own senses. They stalwartly refuse to change their minds. Even now I can hear their minds, working furiously to alter their philosophies._

_Then we must hope Ander's gift of speech is more powerful then their gift of thought._

_Granted that the Scarlet Crusade gift of thought is entirely null, I have nothing to fear.

* * *

_

Tedrassil (say, did you know the old world tree was called Nordrassil? I want a Drassil. Can you imagine if you had a tree that big? You could save the rainforest by chopping down that tree! Or build an awesome treefort! Or just stick it in your backyard and make the military think it was an alien tree trying to take over the world! Wee!)_  
_

Furion took his first step into the Temple of The Moon, only to have Tyrande instantly before him, her arms wrapped around his neck and her cheek buried in his Dark green hair.

How was it that he ever spent a moment without her? Only his devotion to nature and to his people could ever compel him to leave her side. He wrapped his muscular arms around her, embracing her with all the strength and gentleness of his druidic calling, and he kisses her cheek.

"You seem to have eagerly awaited my arrival," he said reflectively. To his amazement, she blushed. Her face, which had become as powerful and flawless as crystal after her long and strife-filled vigil, was now heart-shaped and joyous again, and her silver eyes were beaming with happiness. "What is it?" She said nothing, but took his arm from around her and lead him from the temple to their own private abode. Mystified by what could have possibly shattered all the layers of crystal in her, he followed. When they reached the couple's home, she turned and looked at him, her whole face the picture of joy. "Close your eyes. Your druidic senses will help you perceive what I want to show you." He frowned, baffled, but obeyed. He felt her smaller hands take his, pressing his palm against her soft robes and taunt stomach. "What do you feel?" Still confused, he sought out what could make her ask this, delving into his own thoughts to come up with an answer. During this quick process of thought, something continuously nagged at him, and at last he set to figure out what it was…

A life…

_Two_ lives…

Two lives inside… _Tyrande's life_…? What…? He was suddenly assailed by vertigo, staggering a bit… His eyes flew open and he stared at Tyrande's joyous face, feeling a light movement under his fingertips that no druid had felt for ten thousand years, and, quite possibly, something more that no elf had felt since Malfurion and Illidan's own births. Twins.

"You… Tyrande…" he gasped out, still shocked and surprised as she laughed lightly and hugged him, nestling her smooth cheek against his bearded one. "Tyrande that is…"

"A very happy thing?" he nodded mutely, enfolding her in his arms. After a moment, he relaxed, silver tears of joy dripping into her hair.

* * *

Undercity

Nathanos watched carefully. His hands were on his axes, and his hound was at his side. He watched the shadowed figure creep carefully down to the prison. The banshees did not notice either of them. They were unconscious, though any sane person would tell you a banshee should not be required or capable of sleep. The Ranger Lord's teeth grit together, his rotten lips twisting together with glee and hatred. The shadowed figure stood before the scraps of carapace and limb that constituted the once-great Anub'Arak. Finally. After months of planning, after months of suspicion…

He knew…

He knew…

He was as silent as any elf, his feet and fingers nimbly holding onto the edges of the crack that he had hidden himself in. He was the perfect hunter… The perfect marksman… the perfect ranger…

If he had had a heart, it would have gone cold. A mind brushed over his, as cold and as powerful as ice. He sucked in an unnecessary breath, his eyes going wide with disbelief and loathing. He saw… He saw as clearly as if he saw it with his own eyes… The Lich King sat upon his throne, his powerful mental conscious reaching far across the oceans and seas. It was here now, and it was there… _in_ him… horror seized him- and horror was an emotion Nathanos Blightcaller was not prone to feeling all that often. He saw, quite clearly, that Arthas stood, not sat. His sword was, as always, in his hand, and it rested diagonally against the ground, almost protectivly around a small figure dressed all in ice blue. And then, quite suddenly, the mind passed him, as if blind to him. Arthas did not recognize him, and did not make him known to The shadowy figure and to Anub'Arak below…

No… Something had protected him… but what?

But his quick intake of breath had alerted unkind ears. Nathanos screamed, his eyes rolling, as an infernal plummeted into him, smashing him deep into his crevice. The fiery hand of the demon reached in, shoving him into his shallow hole and crushing him against the cold stone. His dead skin burned, noxious fumes rising into the air as the rot within him sizzled and crackled.

Death… Glorious death…

He was barely aware that his hound was doing nothing, standing idly by and watching him burn, like a witness at some sick witch trial.

* * *

Okay everyone. Who betrayed Sylvanis? How did they find out a way to betray Sylvanis? And more importantly, why is my iguana headbutting me?

Reviewwww!


	27. Its Hard to Kill a Mindset

Hey everyone. This chapter is another weird one. I seem to have changed my writing style again. Last of the Mohicans is over, and now I don't have any old english. Instead I have the Awakening. And that book is just a controversial mess. That and I'm reading 4 novels right now. Four. All for fun. So my style is bound to have many weird... features...

Alright everyone! Before this fanfic begins, we shall analyze who "The Betrayer" could possibly be.

First of all, during the course of this fic, 3 people have been referred to as "The Betrayer" so far. First of all, Illidan is "The Betrayer" when mentioned by any Night Elves. Arthas is "The Betrayer" when mentioned by any paladins (Such as those found in the scene with Ander, Ketala, and The Scarlet Crusade). Then, when mentioned by the Undead, there are two 'Betrayers'. First is Arthas, and second, in lowercase letters, "the betrayer" is whomever told Arthas about Sylvanis's plot to protect Theramore, and took out all her antitoxin and stuff.

Now, who could "the betrayer", Sylvanis's betrayer at Theramore, possibly be? Well, lets look at the evidence. Nathanos found "the betrayer" in the dungeons, going to confer with Anub'Arak. Why? Well, that's easy. Whoever betrayed Sylvanis can't leave the Undercity, and thus has to communicate with Ner'Zhul/Arthas through Anub'Arak.  
Now, lets look at the clues.

"They were unconscious, though any sane person would tell you a banshee should not be required or capable of sleep." This means that 'the betrayer' can cast a sleep spell.

"The Ranger Lord's teeth grit together, his rotten lips twisting together with glee and hatred." This means Nathanos knows and hates this person.

"But his quick intake of breath had alerted unkind ears." This means 'The betrayer' has really good hearing.

'The betrayer' could call down an infernal.

Looking at all this evidence, its easy to conclude who the betrayer is: Varimathras. Or, as it was said that his name began with 'L', Lord Varimathras.

How did he ever hook up with Anub'Arak? Hmm, I seem to remember Sylvanis beating the crap out of him right in front of Anub'Arak. The Crypt Lord, of course, had nothing to lose. Why not offer Varimathras (Whom at the moment probably had quite the hatred fro Sylvanis) the chance to take revenge? All Varimathras wants is freedom to be the evil, conniving demon he is. I'm sure with Arthas's forces crippled, it wasn't a very high price to concede to- that and Varimathras could be out of there long, long before Arthas could get a hand on him. The only wrath he has to chance is Sylvanis's wrath.

Which comes the confusing part. Sylvanis, being the leader of the undead, has a psychic hold over her subjects. Varimathras has mentioned before that he can't betray Sylvanis because "She would Know" and somehow, Sylvanis "knows" if any Scourge are in her city. So how is it that Varimathras's betraying thoughts are going by unnoticed? Whatever the reason- It's perfect. Sylvanis will never suspect someone so dependant on her, whose mind she thinks she can read like an open book.

Now, for the big question. Why didn't Nathanos jump out of the way? Why didn't he fight? Come on, he's got to be recovered by now! Nathanos equals is Sylvanis's _champion_! An Elite of Elites!

Did you notice his quote?

"Death… Glorious death…"

Maybe he didn't want to dodge. Also, did you notice in Nathanos's vision of where Arthas was, there was another person there? "He saw, quite clearly, that Arthas stood, not sat. His sword was, as always, in his hand, and it rested diagonally against the ground, almost protectively around a small figure dressed all in ice blue."

Three guesses as to who was with Arthas right there.

* * *

_**It is Hard to Kill a Mindset

* * *

**_ The Undercity

When he finally, finally reached consciousness, he nearly sobbed. At first his mind had drifted around in hazy subconscious, not aware of what had happened or of the fact that his body was in agony. But, _slowly_, his memories filed in, one by one. His mind became aware of the excruciating agony he was in. Every single dead nerve in his body- every last one that was still operational- was pulsing with mindless fury upon his brain, screaming out its torment so that the whole of his body seemed a chorus of agony pulsing in his temples.

He nearly sobbed in his torment. The only thing that stopped him was that he couldn't move. Either he'd broken the nerves that would transmit orders to the rest of his body and the magic that animated him wasn't enough to work through his brain, or he was just too hurt, or he didn't have any limbs left to move in the first place. Maybe he was nothing. Maybe this was death. His body had been burnt away into ash, and that's what he felt right now- the fiery pain of the ash.

But pain was a bodily thing. Therefore, he must have had a body. He could not open his eyes. He could not take in the shuddering breathes he desired. He was crisped, and he was paralyzed.

The pain itself might have killed him if he hadn't felt a liquid pouring down his throat. As it reached his insides, it flew out to his nerves through his dead cells, and its magic dulled their senses, pushing the pain back into a dull, horrible throb. He tried moving one, solitary finger…

Nothing. He could not even feel his limbs, only the endless, horrible pain from them. His mind, drugged with pain and pain-reliever, sent a silent, helpless plea for mercy to whatever cruel, sadistic god looked down on him. Why could death not come to him? Why was it always just steps off…? Why could he not have freedom? His plea for death melted away as his subconscious took over, blurring into a pitiful cry for help.

And help did come, though he could not feel it at first. After some time, he was aware of being cool, and of the heat of his pain dimming. At first, he contributed it to his senses numbing, but his mind grew clearer as the pain vanished, and he was given time to think about what had happened, and about where his pain had gone.

He was not long into thinking when the pain returned, tenfold, and he was beaten back into subconscious. Again, the relief built up slowly, and he refused to push himself into consciousness. Instead, he moved backwards, and something similar to sleep overtook him.

* * *

South of the Theramore Fleets boardering the Plaguelands and Quel'Thalas.

Sylvanis smiled at the piece of parchment she held clutched in one hand, and nodded to herself lightly, crumbling it slowly, one finger at a time. She turned her head to the shade whom had given this letter to her.

"You are one of Ketala's, correct?" she asked, even though she knew the answer already. The Shade nodded.

"Has she sent word to Theramore's fleets that we are arriving?"

Another nod.

"Good," she said, absently dismissing the shade with one hand and calling out the order to continue to the captain of her vessel, a ghost-like pirate that was always mumbling something about the fine ale and hallucinogens he had lost on some misbegotten adventure, somewhere off the coast of tropical Stranglethorn. He was a long way from home. Then again, what home could a pirate ghost claim but his ship? They made good time, for Daelin couldn't help but point out, with smug delight, all the ways they could coax more speed out of their journey. Strangely enough, Sylvanis tolerated his attempts at hostility, calmly making whatever adjustments he prescribed. At last, he gave up, and retired to brooding on the other side of the ship.

When he saw the Theramore fleet at last, it welled in him some glorifying sense of pride and patriotism, despite the fact that it was only somewhat composed of ships from Kul'Tiras and sailed under his daughter's flag. There was something about ships… about the ocean… which freed him. Even in this macabre, grotesque body, with all the warped emotions of an undead, he still found delighted peace in the sight of the ships, and of their weaponry, and of the choppy water around them. His pride swelled as he noticed the exquisite make of some of the ships, and though he frowned a bit, he felt even more pride at the magic ruins carved elegantly into them. The shapes of the ships- their elegant features, wood, polishing… the sails…

His tutoring had not been wasted. Jaina had, after all, chosen to be a woman of the sea rather than a lady at court. He could not have more pride in him then he did at that precise moment, for the excellent crafts before him. He could see her flaring personality in the finer features of every one. Her choice in wood, her choice in reinforcement- even her style. No doubt she had managed the construction of at least half of them, employing the finest craftsmen that she had brought with her- managed them on top of all the duties she had as a leader and sorceress.

Strangely enough, it was the make of her ships that, for the first time in this entire, mindless conflict, caused Daelin to ponder the idea that Jaina was no longer a naïve child- even if the thought was just a passing fancy in his mind.

It was Sylvanis who decided to meet with the humans first, and it was evident from square one the human leader and the undead leader did not see eye-to-eye. In fact, they seemed to loathe each other utterly. Nevertheless, unplesant pleasantries were exchanged, and Sylvanis gave them the ill news of what had happened at Theramore. At first, the fleet leader and the higher captains did not believe her, but when she offered them a letter signed by Thrall and several of the most powerful of Theramore's officials, they were convinced and willing to listen. Though the banshee ranger was not the most diplomatic of persons, she did effectively communicate that her people and Thrall's would be launching an invasion of Northrend- very soon. The banshee then offered to help strengthen the barricade around the Plaguelands, at least until the orcs sent word that they were ready to move. With this offer to help, she politly asked that the Theramore fleet help them in the invasion of Northrend.

How could they refuse? They had seen ample proof that their leader was in danger. Even if they had to side with the undead, they could not abandon Jaina Proudmoore. So the leaders swore themselves to the cause, and promised themselves to a ceasefire with the Forsaken-

Unless evidence arrived that proved that they had been deceived by Sylvanis. They sent a few, fast ships back to Theramore to discover the truth.

Before Sylvanis departed, she called Daelin forward. At first, he thought to avoid showing himself, simply in order to embarrass and enrage her. However, these were the thoughts of a child, and the Admiral Proudmoore was most certainly a man. Without hesitation, but with a grimace of distaste at Sylvanis, he pushed himself over the side of the undead vessel, jumping into the human one.

Dead silence.

"I believe you are all acquainted with the Admiral Daelin Proodmore, former ruler of Kul'Tiras," Sylvanis began, turning her eyes to the fleet leader. "During Arthas's attack on Theramore, he was resurrected. As his nautical genius is unsurpassed, and as he would never serve me, I have brought him to this fleet. Do what you will with him- I have no care for his fate." She said simply, and with that she was gone, leaving him glaring daggers at her back.

Oh, if only he were in his prime… He would be rid of that filthy, banshee demon…

Of course, now he had a different problem… He turned his head back to the highest captains of the fleet, all looking at him with horror, hatred, and disgust. If she thought she could get rid of him this easily, she had another thing coming. He would beat this legion into fighting shape. Many of the men here had been his own officers. He had no doubt on his ability to prove his innocence, and, further, he had no doubt he would easily be able to gain control over the fleet.

He wasn't leader of Kul'Tiras for nothing.

* * *

On a Boat, Somewhere between Ashenvale and Stranglethorn

"You know something?"

"I know many things."

"You must have the most loyal bunch of followers in the universe."

"Why do you suspect that?"

"Well, think about it. They run around, from conflict, to conflict, to danger, to certain death, all just to help you." Illidan shook his head, stretching out his wings lightly to get the kinks out of them, and then glancing at Zul'vii.

"You forget the driving force behind them. They are like mercenaries, but they fight for magic."

"True, but… it's like… they've lost all desire to…"

"To what?"

"To have a home… a family… Lost all will to settle down. They're storm-tossed spirits, with no incentive to do anything but fight any more. Look at Vashj- why isn't she discontent? She followed you because she wanted revenge against Furion."

"And magic."

"And magic…"

"Do you not think it gets boring sitting underwater, waiting and waiting for all eternity, with nothing to look forward to? She's had ten thousand years of waiting."

"Like you have." He snorted. "But still, it's remarkable. You say, "I want to go out and risk all your lives. You'll encounter pain, suffering, and most certain death," and everyone jumps up to get in line to go first. He chuckled lightly.

"They're opportunists. And… they now have a personal hatred for the undead."

"All for magic, eh?"

"Everything for them is for magic now. They have nothing left but magic."

"And each other. When one of them dies, they hate the foe- they hate the undead." He nodded slowly. "… I feel sorry for Kael…"

"How so?"

"He had such high hopes. He gathered up the scattered remnants of his people, trying to forge out a better, healed life for them. He left his ruined lands, trying to find some place to rebuild the High Elf kingdom, and to settle his people down… But Vashj… and you… The temptation for magic was so strong… Now instead of saving his people and bringing them to a better existence…"

"Now they're merely vengeance-mad minions?" She fell silent, nodding lightly. He was silent a moment as well, tapping his claws lightly against the side of the boat that they stood on. "What about Fel'Wood?"

"I was going to suggest that. When this is over and done with, Fel'Wood can be their home. There is enough demonic taint there that I am sure they can harness some magic from it, and with the Night Elves so near, I believe they shall be watched over so carefully that they will be able to settle back down into normal life without accidentally calling any horribly powerful demonic monsters into existence."

"And it can be the point of contact between the people of the land and the Naga."

"Yes. Speaking of which, we best get this mission over with quickly. We do not have much time to round up the wild Naga and meet the orcs in Northrend, and we have to reach The Eastern Kingdoms quickly. With luck, Vashj's people will be able to persuade them to join our cause."

"And you shall go on land and attempt to convince the Satyr and Trolls in that region."

"Yes."

"I still do not deem it wise."

"I have a certain affinity for Satyr and Trolls. Don't worry- I can take care of myself." Silence on his part. "And you must remain on the boat to oversee things from afar." A light twitch. A light twitch was the closest Illidan could get to saying, or even thinking, "But I'm worried for you." She merely smiled and patted him on his violet arm, before turning and going off to get some sleep. It would be an interesting day tomorrow.

* * *

**CLARIFICATION NOTES!**

Yeth, my first reviewer, let me know that he found the Nathanos/Ketala dream/mental sequence quite confusing.

**_Bold Italic Underlined IS ARTHAS'S TELEPATHY! EVILLLL! That is why Nathanos Calls him "Lord"_**

**Bold is a flashback memory, one that, since they're communicating mentally, they both share. It is a way of bringing back choice peices of Nathanos's thought pattern and displaying them for Ketala to see. With both of them understanding eachother, Ketala becomes convinced that Nathanos is worth saving, And Nathanos relents. Why does he relent? Why, because I like him, and I'm not done with him yet! Yeesh! I never kill off charecters, unless its necessisary to the plot, and killing Nathanos would just make Ketala depressed for a few days.  
**

_Italics, as always, is normal telepathy._**

* * *

**

In the Undercity, A Long Time Later

Nathanos was not aware of how long he slept. He was not aware of who or what he was, or why he was sensing things… sounds… weak smells… He drifted in this subconscious purgatory for a long time. He was senseless… mindless…

_Nathanos…_

As if his name had been a catalyst, his body exploded with flame. His mind's shields shattered into nothing, and he was assailed by agony so horrible and so fierce he screamed out in a pained, ghastly wail. It was made even more horrible by the fact that his lungs and throat were very much destroyed, and the element of his voice that was physical sound was horribly distorted. His mind reeled, and he cried out his agony so pathetically, and thought it so powerfully, that whoever had contacted him was mildly stunned for a moment.

…_Nathanos…_

_Oh Cruel God… Let me die…_

_Marris… Nathanos Marris…_

_Please…Please…_

_Come to me._

_Please…_

_Come to me. I will shield you._

_Please…_ he begged, his mental voice almost a sob. There was nothing left for him in this world but one agony or another. Why was it that everyone around him refused this one, simple request? Why is it that he again was forced to avoid death, when it was so close and so welcomed? Why were the gods doing this to him? Why…? Why so much pain for so little reward…?

_I will shield you…_He whimpered as gently folds of relief alighted gently around his mind.

_**But I will give you what you ask for**._ Nathanos's body jerked, his sightless eyes opening wide.

_My Lord…? _he asked of it.

**I will end this. I will end all thought, all pain, all suffering…** The undead Ranger Lord shivered in agony and disbelief.

_Do not listen, Nathanos! _the shielding voice warned, wrapping itself around his mind as relief soaked into him. But he reached out, searching for the voice that offered what he so longed for…

**_I will end this, if you will entrust yourself to me now._ **Now? He could be free of all this now? Not a moment later? **_Not a moment, Blightcaller…_** Oh how sweet… how tempting… The Cruel God had at last sent him mercy. He pulled himself from the relief of the shielding mind, crying out momentarily at the shock of the pain. But then he was in the embrace of mind that offered him death. Immediately, all pain left him. He was pure and cleansed… He was free… Slowly, he felt himself drift back into mindlessness, in to pure, wonderful oblivion.

_NATHANOS! NATHANOS, DON'T GIVE UP! _cried the shielding voice.

_Why…? I have nothing… I have longed for this… I have dreamed of this…_

_Nathanos, PLEASE! Please don't give up!_

_There is more malice and cruelty in asking me to go on with this wretched existence then there could ever be in killing me._

_You can't give up!_

_Why not?_

_Because there are things left that have not been done!_

_Name one?_

_Killing that being which now seduces your mind!_

_It offers me what I long for._

_You long for death. It offers you an existence as a ghoul._

_As long as I sleep without dreams, what is the difference?_

_Sylvanis-_

_Sylvanis… Sylvanis needs to know…_

_There, see? You have something to tell her._

_Something petty. A life thing._

_Oh Nathanos…Your hound…_

_My hound can burn in hell. Either it abandoned me, or it saved me. Either way…_

…

_So you have no further argument?_ he murmured, content washing over him as he slowly sank towards the sleep he so desired.

_Don't give up…_

_You have no reason I shouldn't._

_I'd help you… I'd take care of you and I'd make your world brighter…_

_I could never find glory in that… I feel no yearning for such a thing…_

_Then there is nothing? Nothing you care about? Nothing of this earth?_

_Nothing…_he answered instantly, his milky, half thoughts blurring together into uncaring apathy.

_But… I care about you…_

_Sweet Ketala… That means absolutely nothing at all._

_You never read the whole of that Kel'Thalas registry did you? The Humans attacked too quickly._

_And again stripped death from me. That will certainly not be something I prolong my own life to endure. To live only to read about how one died? _That_ is an irony._

_No, no, let me read you one entry before you give up. I have the registry with me, and I believe it shall provide a suitable entertainment in its irony for you- a last thing to keep you company while you sleep._ He did not deny her this, and so she began:

---

_"Entry Date: Unkown_

_Name: Nathanos Marris, Human Ranger Lord of Lordaeron_

_Entry:_

_Kael'Thas Sunstrider's dissention in regards to my decision to allow Nathanos Marris into the order is noted. It should also be noted that Nathanos- although a human- is one of the most gifted rangers I have ever had the pleasure of training. For millennia we have isolated ourselves from outsiders. I will be the first among us to admit that mistakes were made in the past. Humans should never have been exposed to magic. I will not deny this, but I will not condemn us to this guarded existence for the blunders of our predecessors. There is much that a coexistence between the Quel'dorei and other races of this world can bring. We must practice tolerance. It is with these words, then, that I deny Kael's request in regards to Nathanos Marris. He will prove to be an invaluable ally, Mark my words._

_Signed, _

_Sylvanis Windrunner_

_Ranger General of Silvermoon"_

_---  
_

Nathanos twitched a bit, coming somewhat out of his muddled, hapless state, and deep, horrid laughter emanated from his mind at this glorious irony. Not only had Sylvanis been twisted into pure and utter hatred of the other races of the world, but she had been right… He _had_ proved an invaluable ally… in a different manner of speaking…

But then he drifted backwards again into mindless sludge.

What could she do? Ketala thought back to the last time she had saved Nathanos, when the Alliance had attacked him. She had given him healing potions… She'd pled with him not to indulge with sleep. He'd asked after his hounds then- he didn't care about his hounds now… Sylvanis? He'd just dismissed Sylvanis as being a petty life concern. That was not like Nathanos at all. Defeating Arthas? Not even that had roused him from his stupor.

She remembered the last time she had saved him... So vividly... What else could she do?

**Poor, poor, pathetic Ketala would be the one who stayed behind. Always trying to do the right thing, she is. Do you like the blood bath I brought?" He looked around at the dead alliance and laughed. "All dead because of you. You could've hit me- I've seen you fight. You were better then any of them- as good as me. You could have killed me and they wouldn't be dead. And now your loyalties are so misplaced, you kneel at my side instead of theirs." He shuddered, laughing darkly. "Just as you seek to help Kel'Thuzad, not recognizing him for the monster he is." She quivered, tensing, hesitating but a spare moment. In that moment, he convulsed, eyes rolling back. Immediately, Ketala picked up the wounded Ranger Lord, pulling him off the ground.**

**"Don't die. Please don't die."**

It had been her hesitation, in that one moment, after he told her it was her fault the Alliance were dead… It had been in her hesitation that he had almost died… She could not let him die now…

Yet he was so unhappy. He was so unhappy, and he had lived so long past what fate had intended for him. Perhaps it was time to let him go?

She felt Nathanos slip again, and her eyes filled with tears.

_I'd take care of you. I'd always take care of you._ He had watched her memory, and he chuckled.

A memory assailed _him_ this time, again pulling him from his lethargy.

**Eyes met, hers blazing a soft yellow, and he shuddered, unable to look away.**

Her eyes… Her beautiful, overwhelming… horrible eyes...

**"You think it is that easy?" he hissed out in agony. "You think you can pick and chose and just change anyone who has taken a different path? Imbecile, WORM! Get away from me, you pathetic, misaligned creature! You belong more with the likes of paladins then-"**

**--- **

**She began to read aloud the tale of Nathanos Marris, his obituary, a beautiful, long litany, detailing his human fiancé and her grief. Nathanos Marris, the only Human Ranger Lord ever to be taken in and trained under the High Elves. A genius tactician, to whom the Alliance owed uncountable victories. But of his empathy, especially toward his animals, the obituary spoke of most highly. He shrieked the whole time, and was left only a moaning, unhappy wreck when she finished**

**--- **

"**They died in vain against me…" he said weakly.**

**"They did not die in vain if their deaths triggered some change." He stared at her. "Some change that came of their deaths… or of this situation, right here, right now." **

**"Be open to the chance that I might not want your help," he hissed, his words gaining strength again.**

**"Be open to the chance that you might want it. I would not have carried you from Marris Stead if I did not see something in you yearning for salvation," she countered. **

**Nathanos's eyes squeezed shut, barely accepting Ketala's words as truth…**

**_--- _**

He was so unhappy…

**He whimpered, damning his hellish savior with curses and threats.**

H**e would never forgive this- could not forgive this. Till the day he died, he would never forgive for being forced to live… forced to care, forced to bare pain in its entirety. It did not matter that he bore pain even now- the silent pain of all that he had lost. Nathanos claimed hatred for being burdened with another life, a life of burden and pain and disappointment. Unlike Lodan, or Jerod, or any Satyr under Zul'vii's care, Nathanos was tired.**

**He was ready to die…**

**He didn't want to feel. He didn't want to care. He didn't want to live. And though he would never enjoy defeat, he was ready for it.**

Death… Glorious death… It welcomed him now, drawing him backwards, and he shivered, relaxing. She reached out to him one last time, encouraged by his horrible memories.

**The only thanks that Ketala Truae would ever get from the Ranger Lord, were silent ones, buried deep, deep within his twisted, sadistic soul- a joyful ecstasy for all he had regained.**

More… more…

"**A Lovely little angel that she is… Shall she gain control over you next?"**

**_--- _**

**Nathanos sneered as the Dreadlord passed, confiding in his private victory. Then he paused, suddenly unsteady. A deep, deep… wrong assailed him, so primitive and powerful that it overwhelmed him. Behind him, his dog yipped, pawing at itself and snarling, twitching and shaking. Deep wrong… deep… deep wrong… A long, low wail echoed through his mind, accompanied by a cacophony of shrieks. It was so far off, so distant and removed, yet it was so important, so vital that he clutched at his head in horror.**

**What was this? What was this… this state that had overwhelmed him? All turned to dead silence in his mind… and that silence was far more terrible then the keen shriek had been. There- he felt it… That horrible wretch… That horrible, horrible female… Ketala… He felt her mind numb, her body stiffen up and go still with shock. He felt her nerves paralyze, her eyes staring out at endless nothing- no will left in her to close them.**

**He laughed. After the initial shock and pain, he stood up straight, and he laughed. He laughed, and laughed, so horribly and completely that he half doubled over with the laughter, spitting dried mucus from his decayed lips and causing blood to flow lightly from rotten gums. And then he was sick- violently sick- all over the floor, and he cursed himself, and he held tightly to the wall beside him. He swore again and again, and he cursed himself, and he cursed that which had killed him, and he cursed Arthas, and, most of all, he cursed Ketala.**

**He cursed her in every way a person could be verbally cursed- with every vile word, and every pungent insult. He cursed her violently, shaking, and clutching his stomach- a stomach that had not moved or rebelled or properly digested for many years, but had suddenly now betrayed him. He cursed her, and he was sick again, because he had been stripped of his uncaring freedom and now had nothing but her to cling. She had broken him, forcing him into a mindset he had not asked for, and his mind and heart ached- against all his will- for the recovery of the angel that had so damned him.**

_Nathanos… Nathanos… Don't leave… Please don't leave…_

_I am ready to die._

_Stay for me, so that I will always have someone to control the level of my ego, and quell my optimism with realistic brutality. _Nothing more then a tired chuckle greeted her. _But you cared… You cared…You were the only one…_

_Only? Everything _loves_ you. What are you talking about?_

_I'm Trua, angel of compassion. Things are _supposed_ to care about me. But you… you were different…I had to earn any praise from you._

_So you are saying that you do not want me to die because I am the only one who hates you enough?_

… _Yes. _

…

_You fought against everything in me that was angelic. No one cares about Ketala- they care about Trua, the crusader of light._

_The embodiment of compassion._

_But you _hated_ that part of me._

_And in turn I somehow seeded the absurd notion into your head that I was the only person who appreciated your mortal, self-defined personality and skills?_

_Yes._

_Dear Ketala, your loyalties really are lost and misplaced. I pity your mindless naivety._

_I don't want to change you. I want to change what has been done to you… I want you to be happy… And I know death will never grant you anything but mindless content. Don't leave me… Not yet… I need your help… Please don't leave me… _

He reached out to her, compelled by the same, twisted hope that had so ruthlessly torn its way into his heart. But he was so far gone… He felt the mind that promised him empty sleep close around him, dragging him in, and his consciousness slipped further. There were several moments of intense, mindless oblivion, and then a mind bore ruthlessly into his cage he was in, wrapping around him and yanking him back with every fibre of its powerful being. He washed back into agony and hatred and loathing, and he heard a thud as his thrice-damned savior tumbled unconscious to the ground, her mind folded around his, muffling the pain and carefully surrounding him in a shield of care and healing, and then he joined her in the natural, dream-stirred peace of unconscious sleep.

* * *

The Bulwark, of Course

The Scarlet Crusade was at the Bulwark. It did not want to be there. It blessed itself constantly, muttering about blasphemers and mad escapades. Its eyes narrowed as a figure appeared on the crest of a hill, riding a brilliant, powerfully armored feline. An ox was following it without fear and without the slightest wandering eye, and that ox was dragging a wagon. At the side of the ox walked a massive raptor, mounted by a troll. Behind them, followed an army, composed of some of the most despicable creatures on the face of the planet. There were undead mounted on horses, Trolls mounted on great forest beasts, and many walking Satyr, sharpening their blades and looking around craftily, as if attempting to find any throats to slit. As they reached the Bulwark, the raptor and lynx shot forward, skidding to a halt as they reached the small camp. Immediately, Ketala was off of her beast and striding up to several of the Argent Dawn leaders, all of which were in deep religious debate with the Scarlet Crusade leaders.

"We're ready to progress onto the Eastern Plaguelands when you are." She glanced at the Scarlet Crusade officials. "That is if you aren't _too_ deeply engrossed with proving each other to be wrong…" Well, all the officials stiffened at that, save for one undead and one human. The undead's name was Leonid Barthalomew the Revered, a champion for the cause of the Argent Dawn and a fellow undead Paladin. He had been the undead that had stood at Ketala's side during the 'debate' at Hearthglen. The human that did not stiffen was none other than Carlin Redpath. Both these men had been previously stationed at Light Hope's Chapel in the Eastern Plaguelands, and had safely made it, with the rest of their people, to the Bulwark some time after the first battle of the war against the Scourge.

Instead of stiffening, these two men chuckled, and Carlin pat her lightly on the shoulder.

"Be patient, Ketala. You must ride ahead to Andorhal anyway, and it will probably be in the best interest of all of us if you have the undead army a few days ahead of us. If the Scarlet Crusade officials decide to directly help in the invasion, they will certainly not want to toil side-by-side with undead. And you will be able to clear out our path through the Eastern Plaguelands in your own fashion.

"What are we going to do about Scolomance and Stratholme? Both Caer Darrow and The Plaguewood are far away from Scarlet Crusade outposts." One of the Scarlet Crusade leaders cleared his throat, his pride winning over his prejudice.

"We will be perfectly capable of maintaining a constant watch and war on those two outposts, especially considering the fact that our outposts in Trisfal are temporarily unnecessary." Ketala eyed the official and sighed.

"Temporarily? My goodness, all we ever seem to do is fight. For once I'm glad I do not have a family to miss while I fight." This startled the Scarlet Crusade official, who blinked repeatedly as she looked at Leonid and Carlin.

"I shall see you at the Quel'Lithien lodge. Don't bother detouring through Light Hope's Chapel- its untouched and it will bring you far off of the path to the north of the Plaguelands."

"You are sure?"

"Yes. The undead tend to avoid holy things unless their leaders are around. That's why Uther's tomb is still untouched. I'll have Corin's Crossing cleared out on my way north, so you shouldn't have any reason to leave the beaten path." She tilted her head to the side. "Speaking of which, we must go very quickly. I'm having a harder and harder time contacting undead, and I think Arthas is finding ways around my gift to reach them mentally. If we do not move fast, I have no doubt he will find a way to cut me off entirely, and I will not be able to turn the minds of any of the undead in Northrend. Already, I can barely sense the liches- even the ones I have touched mentally." Carlin nodded gravely.

"Hurry then. We will ride swiftly behind you." She nodded in return.

"Light guide you."

"And you." She gave a light wave and hurried back to explain to her raptor-mounted companion the situation. Carlin lifted his head to look at the Scarlet Crusade officials and sighed. Now was not the time he would have picked to explain that Ketala could control undead.

The army of trolls, satyr, and undead walked by, with the remnants of the Silver Hand and the whole of the Argent Dawn at the Bulwark, all of them trying to formulate some way to explain Ketala's empathy with mindless things in a positive light.

* * *

Andorhal

The army had traveled far, but it did not rest until it reached the walls of Andorhal. Even then, with proper lodging, they army did not rest _well._ The trolls were superstitious things, who did not deal well with ghosts. Therefore, the ghosts had to be kept far away. In any event, the trolls _still_ sensed the presence of spirits, and were not at all happy to be an undead city. The satyr did not rest well because they were busy tormenting all the ghosts, something Ketala and Zul'vii at last managed to put an end too. The undead did not sleep well because they were bitter, as undead normally were.

Ketala herded the ox into her own home. She detached the wagon from it, mentally cautioned it to be careful, and set it off to eat some Viridian Reach grass around the lake. Then, very, very carefully, she pulled back the canvas stretched over the top of the wagon. Nestled in the softest materials that poor Ketala could find was Nathanos Marris. Ketala was lucky she could see past gore, for her sadistic acquaintance _barely_ resembled the Banshee Queen's champion, playing fetch with his hounds from his throne of skulls. It was going to take all of Zul'vii's skill to bring his body back into full working order. While Ketala waited for her half-troll companion to show up, she gently peeled burnt and ashy cloth from Nathanos's flesh. They hadn't much time to do anything but prolong his life back at the Undercity. Zul'vii had already gone out of her way to get there, and she and Ketala had to make a hasty march to the Quel'Lithien lodge, the very elfin stronghold that Ketala had stolen the Quel'Thalas registry from. Though she doubted the elves would allow an army of trolls and satyr in their gates, Ketala had a reasonable understanding established with them, and she had no doubt that they would tolerate it if the army pitched camp at the foot of their little mountain.

But to return to the present. Ketala cared gently for her sadistic associate until Zul'vii found her. With Ketala keeping him unconscious, Zul'vii applied her gift to the suffering undead. Unlike Keltala, Zul'vii had no such ability to look through gore. The undead she worked with was no more then a living corpse- not that he had ever been otherwise. His scent was putrid- the smell of burnt rot and flesh. Jagged, ugly burns trailed down the hole of his body- black in places and bloodless white in others, puckered and infected. In places, he was so burnt through that his scorched bones were visible beneath burnt muscle, and the edges of a few dead organs were visible. In many places, metal had fused slightly to his flesh, and it could only be removed by being cut out. Many of his ribs were broken from the crushing power of the infernal, and one of his arms was so horribly burn that he had lost his lower arm and hand altogether, and the shoulder was in danger of collapsing into crumbled ash.

To boot, his face was also horribly disfigured. His throat was burnt and crushed, his lower jaw broken and half burn away. That, and he had almost been transformed into a ghoul, and some of his flesh had rotted away before her eyes. He no longer possessed much of eyelids, and his eyes were blind with smoke and flame. Nathanos had never been pretty. Now he was freakishly and horribly hideous.

Luckily, these disturbing features did nothing to deter Zul'vii. She and Ketala helped clean away all the ruined ash, causing dead blood to spill out and places. When he was _rudimentarily_ clean, she applied her trade, using salves and various potions while she let her healing energy sink into him. Gradually, the muscle and bone rebuilt, and flesh grew and spread over the muscle and bone.

That was enough for one night. Zul'vii could not foolishly toss around her power, attempting to heal very much at once. There was no telling when someone else would need her aid, and if she healed all Nathanos's wounds today, she would not have the strength to ride a raptor come morning. It was one thing to purge poisons from a body, or heal a simple wound. But burns… Zul'vii had never dealt with burns before, and it turned out that they were just as tricky as Illidan's frostbite had been. It would take more then just one sitting before she could figure out how to mend them.

* * *

At the Foot of the Hill that the Quel'Lithien Lodge Sits On

As Ketala had predicted, the elves were not horribly hostile to them. After they had been explained the situation, they begrudgingly allowed the army to sleep beside the shelter of their mountain. They might not have been so gracious if they had known exactly what was being toted around in that wagon. Ketala pulled back the canvas once her camp was set up.

He was doing much better. Remarkably, Zul'vii was not only healing his current wounds, but also all of those that had defaced him at his death. His nose and lips were rebuilt, his spinal cord properly _inside_ his back, and with skin and muscle over his fingertips, ribs, and toes. Looking at him, she was reminded of a funeral that had been held in Stormwind. He was whole, but he was so lifeless in appearance…

With all of his features restored to him, he actually looked human again- not a gross, macabre undead. For the first time, she saw Nathanos Marris, the Human Ranger Lord, pride of elfin and human kind. He had brown hair, a strong but pointed face- the face of a ranger- and an almost elfin look to his features due to his pale white coloration. A definite improvement from the gray, rotten, evil-looking thing that had sat upon a throne of skulls on an abandoned estate.

She doubted Nathanos would be as pleased with his appearance when he woke up. But, then again, Nathanos was rarely pleased with anything but the suffering of others.

As Ketala had foreseen, Nathanos was not pleased with looking human again. He woke up groggily once she finally stopped suppressing his consciousness. He slowly sat up, sneering as he realized where he was and what he was doing there. He moved lightly and blinked at the fluidity of his own movements. Looking down at his hands, he saw the pale, weathered hands of a human. Immediately disgusted and enraged, he wasted no time gnawing off his own fingertips, spitting out blood and flesh.

"Nathanos!"

The exclamation startled him slightly, and he looked around to see Ketala. A cruel smiled played over his lips, and he bit down hard on one of his own fingers, ignoring the pain.

"Nathanos, stop that!" she said, coming forward and fighting with him over possession of his hand. He spat the flesh of one of his fingers at her and she grunted, slapping him. He bristled, anger forming in his eyes, but she effectively muffled it by thrusting a beautiful, elegant longbow into his hands. "Bite on your hands any more, and you won't be able to use this all that well." Nathanos, on the other had, had ceased listening to her, otherwise he would have pointed out that he had used a bow with skeletal fingertips before. He was lifting a hand and running it gently over the smooth, elegantly carved wood. Ketala Truae, seeing that she would only upset this moment of awe by talking, fell silent. She watched Nathanos curiously as he examined the bow, marveling at it.

"Who made this?" he asked at last.

"You did. I thought you'd like it. If not, I'm sure there are more suitable instruments." His eyes lifted sharply to hers, his hands clenching on the bow as if he desired to shatter it into a million pieces. "But as for your fingertips, I do believe any ranger would agree with me that sensitive fingers are far, far more useful then sharpened bone." He merely sneered at her.

"You know nothing of rangers."

"I know Sylvanis goes to great pains not to damage her hands, and that all her fingers save one are whole." He growled, looking down at his hands.

"Why are they whole in the first place?" he asked, following his line of thought.

"Zul'vii healed _everything_ about you that could be healed. She wanted to make sure she had done her job thoroughly." He snorted, mumbling something under his breath, before blinking. Snort. He had a nose. He lifted his hand quickly to his face, grunting as he felt his own whole features, unscathed by undeath. His delicate fingers moved further up, touching his hair, and his eyes blossomed with rage. He lifted both hands to his face… Ketala grabbed his hands, pulling them away from his face. He howled with rage, trying to get his fingertips to his visage so he could rend apart his features again.

"Nathanos, STOP!"

"What? No cute reason I should keep this… this _human_ face?" he sneered back, wrenching angrily back and forward and fighting against her. He scored a blow on her side, and she released just long enough for him to rake four ugly lines across his own face, ripping open his cheek and jaw. Then she'd grabbed his hand again, and was working to pin him. She was fortunate that Nathanos was always weak whenever she found a need to pin him, and he succumbed to her force. At last she was sitting on him, pinning both his arms and grunting with irritation. He could be so unreasonable sometimes- whenever he wasn't in control. Her backpack was leaning against a wall, not far from where she was currently pinning her sadistic comrade. She reached over, rummaging through her possessions as she carefully kept Blightcaller pinned to the ground. After a long moment, she drew out a small mirror and showed it to him. At first, he refused to look, but the temptation and curiosity were too great; after much trial and error, she finally got him to look at his own appearance, and he calmed a bit in order to get a good look at himself.

"Come now, Nathanos. You could pass for a human in any major city and cause havoc and chaos from the inside out."

The thought was tempting. Of course, many people would recognize Nathanos Marris, the only Human Ranger Lord to have ever lived. Anger bubbled up in him again.

"Besides, what's wrong with looking human? That's what you are, after all- an undead human. Or are you afraid people will recognize you as a great person and as a defender of the innocent?"

"WHY DO YOU CARE? Have you not proclaimed endless times that you look beyond rot and filth?"

"Yes. But you're a terrible person as an undead, Nathanos. You need some shallow features to cover up how rotten you make your insides." Even more anger sparked inside of him, his eyes boring into hers…

A mistake.

He looked away quickly, breathing in sharply. Damn her eyes.

"What's the matter? Don't you like how you look? You have to agree its an improvement."

"NO!"

"No? Well, _I_ think you're much prettier."

A long, awkward silence. Nathanos broke it first by bursting out into a fit of cold, insane laughter.

* * *

**Review or I shall not Update! Yarg!**

Well, that leaves some time for questions. How long did Nathanos sleep? Somehow, Zul'vii managed to move all the way from Strangelthorn to the Undercity while he was unconcious, and gathered a whole army! Nathanos must have been unconcious for weeks! And where is his dog? And why hasn't Arthas killed Jaina yet? And Why does Visual C+ have to be so complicated? And who the heck is going to warn everyone that Varimathras has been going behind everyone's back for months? He's been running aorund the whole time Nathanos was unconcious causing more trouble! Oh dear. This could turn out badly.

On the next episode of Dragon Ball Z, we shall determine whether or not Nathanos turns his face into something resembling that pot of coagulated rot Ketala brought him, or whether he remains a pretty elfy looking person. Who bets he ruins his face:_Entire audience raises hand: _

/ Poor Nathanos. He's such a depressed irritant.


	28. What We Once Had Been

Hello! Hello! Hello to you all!

I yell at you, for I desire more reviews! Where have all my reviewee's gone? Have they vanished? Did the aliens abduct them? Noo! Why must the good die young?I hate this uploader. First, it mashes some of my words together. Then, it removes some of my letters and words all together. After that, I can't use repeated letters or it shortens them. I can't make extra space between paragraphs or it shortens it. I can't use more then one punctuation mark, or it deletes one, so all the elaborate combinations of multiple exclamation marks and question marks (For when someone is shouting a question) are gone. I can't use that little wavy minus sign at the left extreme of the numbers on your keyboard either. I used to denote telepathy with that. I can't even use the karrot key, so I can't make uber smily faces! This uploader stinks!

Now that my rant is over, please tell me what you guys think about the quality of my story! is it going up, down, staying the same? what do you like? what don't you like? gimme input here! I gotta know what i"m doing right! I write fanfiction not only because I love video games, but because I want to know about my writing- and about what people think of it. I wanna be a better writer! Should I shorten chapters so you have less to think about? what should I do! Please tell me. :Sad face:

Also, is my range of charecters getting too broad for you? am I too repetitive with some things? I know another story- Bloody Lephrchan, that is well written but drives me insane with how it is! with how... how gloomy and confusing it is, lol. Is my story too happy? Or too confusing? Are my charecters too perfect? Nah, they aren't. Even KEtala, Mahi, and Zul'vii aren't perfect. Its subtle, but you see they dislike many things about themselves- the most prevailant being that they hate being divine. Or maybe you think otherwise? Let me know! Please let me know, its the only way I have to gauge the satisfaction of my readers!

Thank you **DoomReeper, Yeth, Buddi-chan, Rogue Chimera, Sheitan, Spy123 Eric, This-Sentance-Is-False, Koegh, AzureDragoness, and Shanua. **Whoa. I got a lot of chapter 25 reviews. That's the one where Arthas popped up. you guys hated that, didn't you? hehe. I got a big reaction, and I was happy. Yay! Let me know how the Printing worked, Sheitan, lol. Yes, i did read your posts earlier, but when I post my chapters I'm so eager that I forget to respond. Sowwy!

**Lets have a poll at the end of this chapter!**

I must be in a philosophical mood. My charecters are discussing philosophy again.

* * *

_**What we Once Had Been

* * *

**_IceCrown

The woman who had been Jaina Proudmoore stood still upon the icy ground. Cold wafted around her, but it was if she were immune to its frozen tendrils. She did not shiver or stir. In fact, she seemed more at home in the presence of ice then she did in her room, the room she had been given, which sported a decent fire place. The robes of a lich or necromancer were too simple for one like her. Instead, she had been clothed in robes made from the scales of Saphirron himself. Her rich, golden blond hair hung down from her horned, scaled hood, framing her ivory face and drawing out the color of her deep, cyan eyes.

The monster that had once been a proud prince and a willful shaman did not move either, nor did he speak to her much, save to occasionally call her name. She knew his will instinctively, and she obeyed it without the slightest qualm. His powerful mind dominated her, and directed her by his every whim. The melded being that was the Lich King altered in personality sometimes. Occasionally, he would be more Arthas, or more Ner'zhul, but that flare of personality would soon drift back into the mixed monster he was now. All that could be said now of that monster, was that he had found a weapon in Jaina Proudmoore. The cold, bitter irony behind why had had chosen _her_ emerged from whatever emotional attachment he had once felt for her, and from his own, twisted sadism.

"_Jaina…"_ She responded to that, looking at him, and a mailed hand tenderly stroked her jaw line.

In some twisted way, she was at last his. And she would be the perfect bait… As long as she lived, he knew someone would come.

* * *

Quel'Thalas, Boat on the Route Towards Northrend

It took several riled up abominations (and trust me, it is hard to rile one up. They have no minds.) to burst down the blocked route into Quel'Thalas. Leaving the elves of the lodge to whatever fancy they may have had for their homeland, Ketala lead her army immediately to the shore, the Scarlet Crusade troops following bitterly behind them. They found undead ships awaiting them- most of them of Sylvanis's or Ketala's make, and all empty. After loading them up with undead, trolls, satyr, more undead, Scarlet Crusade, and even more undead, they set off, cruising toward the rest of the fleets. When this was over with, Ketala would personally reunite Tyr's Hand and Hearthglen. Why? Why strengthen her enemy? As a sign of goodwill, and as a sign of thankfulness for this amazing, begrudged alliance, of course. Even if the Scarlet Crusade would hunt undead till the end of their days, she could at least hope to persuade a few that she was on the side of the Light.

Which was getting more and more improbable. She had purposely seated herself on the one vessel that contained everyone who could not possibly fit on one of the other, racial vessels. This meant that Ketala and her undead were living on the same, tiny, floating piece of wood as trolls, satyr, Forsaken, Stormwind Humans, and the Scarlet Crusade. She had already had to break up one fight by blowing an undead rogue across the room with holy light, half ripping off his arm, and picking up a Scarlet Monk by the throat and threatening to drop him overboard. She had then hurled him into the wall beside the undead, stalked up to them, and screamed loudly that if they caused any more trouble she'd make them share a room with a single bed. As this was the strangest and most appalling punishment they could think of- despite the fact that the undead was convinced he would be able to backstab the Scarlet Crusade Member- they avoided each other for a bit- at least long enough for each of them to heal. For a bit. Now they were taunting and leering at each other every opportunity they could get. If she had told them their punishment would be to make them share a gladiatorial show, they would have gladly done it.

Ketala sighed, toying with a Silver Hand pendant that Thel'Danis had given her the last time she'd left him. She had taken up praying at Uther's Shrine, as it was the holiest place in all the Western Plaguelands, and because she needed his advice as much as she needed the Light's. Too many bad memories she didn't care for.

"That looks like one of the Mithril Pendants that the highest of the Silver Hand used to wear." Ketala blinked, lifting her head, and smiled, looking over her shoulder at the one member of the Scarlet Crusade who was not completely and entirely insane. Behind Ketala was a young priest- barely old enough to have been in the Silver Hand before the Scarlet Crusade ever formed. Ketala knew her because Ketala had once saved her life.

This was the priestess that Ketala had saved from the necromancers. This was the priestess that Ketala had purged plagued worms from, and this was the woman that Ketala had lead back to Tyr's Hand, leaving her unscathed at the gate.

* * *

Flashback

On the Army's way through the Eastern Plaguelands, Ketala had again gone through Corin's Crossing. Again, she had purged the location of undead, and again she had met the Priestess. This time, the young member of the Scarlet Crusade had been doing much better. She was carefully keeping her troops safe, and was ensuring that they did not run at the enemy with mindless zeal. Amused at seeing this Priestess again, Ketala had told her Army to remain behind, and had snuck up behind the abomination the Crusade members were fighting.

The dancing curves of her scimitars had rent the abomination apart from behind, and holy energy caused it to smoke and catch fire. As it topped forward, all the Crusade members had paused to stare at her. Ketala had turned her head, waved lightly at the Priestess, and had asked her if she'd mind waiting around in Corin's crossing for a few days.

The Priestess, recognizing Ketala, asked, "Why?".

"Because I'm leading my army through right now. We're launching an assault on the Frozen Throne- to defeat the Lich King. The Scarlet Crusade army is a few days behind us, and seeing as you're a fairly open-minded person, you might decide its in your calling to help."

"And why is your army so far ahead?"

"Well, you know me. I tend to be disagreeable to the Scarlet Crusade. If I hadn't single-handedly defeated all their officials with Holy Light, they wouldn't have even come. The Scarlet Crusade tends to be a tad biased against undead, as you know. And my army's the same sort. You know- trolls, satyr, my undead, Forsaken… Not very agreeable to normal humans." The rest of the Priestess's troops had all stiffened, hefting their weapons. The Priestess, however, did not give the order for attack, staring at Ketala.

"The Scarlet Crusade fights against all undead- for what they did to our people and loved ones."

"And we fight against Arthas for what he did to us, and to our loved ones. The Lich King is the mind behind the Plague and the Scourge- he is the destroyer of so much we loved and cherished. Whether or not you will help, we will defeat the monster, and we will put an end to his evil. Now, I am not asking you to trust me. Just wait around for a few days until their army comes through. If they can convince you that we are fighting for a just cause, follow us. If not…" She shrugged. "Well, bring some of them back with you to see Tyr's hand. They'll be so happy to see that there are still fellow believers of the Light in this corner of the world. You could reunite whole families… lots of lost birthdays to celebrate to get back on track." She stroked the chin of her helmet, gave a little wave, and that was it- she was off.

* * *

(Cont. after Flashback)

When the Scarlet Crusade reached the lodge, she was there, and she had stuck stubbornly to Ketala ever since.

Now she stood behind Ketala on the boat, asking her where Ketala had found her Pendant of the Silver Hand.

"The Guardian of Uther's Tomb gave it to me. I go there to pray, and to ask advice."

"Of who? The guardian?"

"Oh no- of Uther. Normally dead people talking to you is quite freaky- just look at the face of a Scarlet monk when I try to talk to them- but getting teachings from a wizened old dead Paladin isn't as peculiar. It's actually rather… eh… flattering." The woman was staring at her as if she had two heads, but she also head great curiosity in her expression.

"Is he… is he undead?"

"What? Oh no! No, no, no. No such evil touches Uther's Tomb. I and Leonid are the only two undead who can even approach it. No, he reaches me mentally. I'm not sure why though- Thel'Danis has said he's only received one such 'vision' the whole time he's been guarding that place." She looked out to sea again.

"Maybe he wanted me to accomplish things he died too quickly to remedy. You know… he doesn't hate Arthas?" Her eyes widened.

"Doesn't hate… Arthas!"

"No. He pities him… He pities him because he knows Arthas has willing abandoned his faith, and everything he once held dear. He has nothing now, and he will die with nothing. No faith to sustain him, and no love worth existing for. Uther said hating doesn't fix anything. No matter how much you hate a person, it doesn't make you any better, doesn't make them any worse, and doesn't fix the problem. In fact, he says you should forgive them."

"Why forgive?"

"I haven't completed the logic on that one yet… But it seems to me that avenging hatred is very hollow, and it keeps you consumed with hatred… Only slaying with forgiveness keeps you human, because you remember that what this person did was terrible, but you are only killing them because you must save something else- you are only killing them because you have to. By forgiving, you keep yourself from wanting to bring death- and, by forgiving, you keep yourself from being just like Arthas is now." Ketala smiled weakly, putting her pendant away. "Something like that. I'm sure there is a far deeper spiritual meaning attached, but that's all I have for now."

Silence…

"Do you really have Kel'Thuzad on board this ship?"

"Not this one. Another one. Sure, its dangerous to bring him so close to Arthas, but I couldn't just leave him to his own devices in the Plaguelands."

"Why haven't you killed him?"

"I have an emotional attachment to him. I am hoping I can save him spiritually."

"Oh." She had long ago forgotten that the idea of saving someone spiritually (other then by killing them) actually existed. "What about the undead you spend so much time with?"

"Blighcaller? Oh… he's just an idiot."

"An idiot?"

"Yes. He's a stubborn, unhappy idiot, and I'm trying to help him work past all three of those traits."

"There's a rumor going around that Blightcaller killed Nathanos Marris."

"Blightcaller _is_ Nathanos Marris. I call him by that lesser known name so no over zealous priests get it into their head to 'purge him of demonic taint'."

"You care about him too?"

"I care about everyone. It's in my nature."

"Even the Crusade?" Ketala thought about this a long moment, remembering how she sought Ander's council so that she could even decide whether or not it was right to hurt the Scarlet Crusade.

"Most of the time. The other part of the time, I'm too mortal, and I despise them for all they've destroyed."

"Its strange seeing my order through your eyes."

"It is strange seeing the world through yours. You've changed a lot since we last met. You were soft-spoken and idealistic and filled with mindless zeal."

"Those traits are so different they're almost oxymorons when placed together."

"Aren't they, though? But tell me, what made you change so much?"

"… War… and your honesty."

"It is good to know I have made a positive impression somewhere." She smiled fondly at the priest, turning and patting her gently on the shoulder. "Light bless you," she said with a smile, and then she was below deck again, seeking out Nathanos.

* * *

(Cont.)

P.S: Ooooh! This has allusions to the Sunstrider Isle found in the expansion pack! Say, if this fanfic lasts that long, I guess I'll try and tie it into the expansion. Of course, its going to be a million times different, but there will be parallels for all you WoW lovers to find. This fic wouldn't be any good if it just ran off without direction or Blizzard-influenced madness.

The poor Ranger Lord had only lost more of his dignity since we last saw him. Now he was not only unconscious but tied up in a straitjacket. Ketala came up to the side of his hammock and sighed, expertly sitting on its side without tipping it. She looked down at the Ranger Lord and shook her head. She knew that she was only making Nathanos hate her more, but what could she do? If she left him to his own devices… She moved a hand to his cheek- looking at the slash that Nathanos had put into his own face with his bare fingers.

Ketala could not help it. She was a compassionate creature.

"What can I do for you? What will heal you? I have to do this like any other mortal, because you resist everything in me that is angelic. So what can I do? What will make you whole?"

She closed her eyes, thinking to herself, sighing softly.

_I need an island. Somewhere beautiful, and sunny… Somewhere that reminds him of his life, and is horribly alive, yet something that I can get him used to. Something where there is some remnance of suffering- but also healing from it…_She'd ask all her friends about it when she saw them at the gathering of the fleets around Northrend. Maybe there was somewhere she could bring Nathanos where she could heal him… Somewhere Safe…

She carefully undid the strait jacket and pulled it off, tossing it out of sight. Then she began stroking his back, lost in her own unhappy thoughts, her mind releasing his. He woke up slowly, and then growled upon realizing where he was. She just looked at him and shook her head.

"One day, Nathanos…" He blinked, and whipped his head around to glare at her. She looked down at him and sighed, shaking her head. "Just for one day… Please let me try…."

"Like I have any choice in any of this!" he snarled, his voice filled with so many hundreds of negative emotions. The ones that pained her worse were those that claimed she stripped him of all free will and choice. She had harassed Nathanos so entirely that he no longer even had the breath to insult her. She gazed at him for a long, long, long moment, marking the fury apparent in every last one of his features.

And then, quite suddenly, everything was much, much clearer. She tilted her head to the side and then shook it, shrugging lightly.

"Do as you will, Blightcaller," she said, and she stood, heading for the door.

And that was it. That was how Ketala fixed the problem that had been plaguing her for months. She let him do whatever his little insane heart decided- except for attack members of the Scarlet Crusade. He joined her on the deck a few days later, his hands gnawed down to bloody, burnt, sharpened bone, and his face and hair burnt away, his hood up and half concealing his face. She looked at him, she smiled lightly with her eyes, and then she looked back out to sea.

"How are you this lovely morning?

"Exquisitely rotten, dear Ketala. All this 'lovely' fresh air is enough to make me puke."

"I missed you, too. And I didn't know you got seasick." He said nothing, despite the fact that he had not meant he was sick of the sea, but that he was in fact sick of purity.

* * *

(Cont.)

By the end of the journey, Ketala was playing with seabirds, delighting in their free minds and effortless gliding. She felt alone sometimes, even among undead, and it was always nice to see the animals milling around, oh so happy to see her. When she heard the first "THWAP!" and watched one of the beautiful, heavenly birds get impaled to a mast, she wasn't in the least surprised. Nathanos shot every last one down that day, delighting in how each one made her twitch and writhe awkwardly. He took the birds to the cook after that, and had the cooks serve it in a pie, without telling her. He had a slice brought to her, and he delighted in watching her horrified expression as she realized what the taste was.

They met the Theramore barricade on their way, and it was much to the vexation of Ketala that the fleet fired at her ships, making sure to avoid the ships themselves, but stirring up the water in front of them in a threatening manner.

Someone in charge of the barricade had a vendetta against undead.

Personally, Admiral Daelin Proudmoore was even more enraged to see that, not only did Sylvanis not fume about how he had fired on Ketala's ships, but she instead considered it amusing. Ketala, however, had other ideas. As soon as her ship was close enough, she jumped onto the one Daelin and Sylvanis were conferring on, stalked up to the Admiral, and spun him around, glaring evilly at him.

"WHAT THE RUDDY HECK WAS THAT FOR?" Confused at first, for this was a paladin, and he was an undead, Daelin said nothing.

"My god, man! Calm down! I don't give a flying damn how much you hate yourself, you shouldn't take it out in childish fits against people you've never met before!" Sylvanis put one hand over her mouth, chuckling lightly. "And you!" Ketala said, wheeling on Sylvanis. "Don't look so smug! Nathanos got blown to smithereens and I've spent the last couple months putting him back together, and Arthas _himself_ almost succeeded into luring him into ghoul-dome with the promise that he wouldn't have to feel anything any more! That and he's gonna be a complete ass and not tell you whatever information he'd been meaning to when he got fried."

"And this matters to me why?"

"Because he was attacked in the Undercity. Nathanos knows who betrayed you." Ketala snorted, wheeled around, and stalked back to her ship, grabbing a Scarlet Crusade Official and dragging him onto the ship. Needless to say, his face was going through contortions of disgust as he was shoved in front of Sylvanis and Daelin, and Sylvanis pulled back in shock.

"What is _THAT_ doing here!" Sylvanis demanded, her face twisting into disgust.

" 'That' has gracefully agreed to help us. So Varimathras had us take most of the Deathguards with us. They're on one of the other ship. I suggest gaining some measure of control over this idiot," and she pointed accusingly at Daelin, "before he gets every last human and undead on the face of this planet wanted dead by a faction of very temperamental paladins! They're only helping us by grace alone, and if this idiot changes their directive, I'll personally throttle both of you for being such blind, petty fools!"

Well, the Scarlet Official, Sylvanis, Daelin, and the rest of the ship's inhabitants all just stared in awe and stupefaction at Ketala as she propelled the Scarlet Official back to his ship, helped him back onto it, and cast her ship free from there's. There was little future bickering, as the entire barricade turned and began heading toward the icy continent of Northrend.

The Scarlet Official just watched Ketala grumbled evilly at the barricade ships, muttering something about blind hatred, crazy banshees, and too many self-loathers. She noticed him staring, and lifted her head, eyeing him.

"… Sorry bout that."

"…"

"Well come now, its not like I'm going to bite."

"That was Sylvanis Windrunner, was it not?"

"Yes, though I don't know who the undead idiot commanding the Theramore fleet was. Looked familiar though."

"Admiral Daelin Proudmoore."

Both were silent for a moment.

"Well, _that_ explains some things. Like why an undead is commanding a bunch of humans that utterly loathe undead. Or why someone who hates undead and orcs so much is banding with them to attack Northrend. One always loves one's children." He nodded silently, regarding her stoically. Then, making the effort of a life time, he asked her a question.

"Do you have any?"

"Children?" She sighed and shrugged. "None of my own. I was raised by undead and slain by undead." His eyes widened slightly. "I have certain abilities- my skill with the blade, for one, and my ability to manipulate the insentient- that makes me a perfect weapon. Due to my lineage, Arthas recognized me for that weapon, even though I was just a baby. I was raised by undead until I reached my prime, oh… around the age of five? I grew to adulthood quickly. Then they killed me. The one who raised me had a sort of epiphany- odd for an undead. Because most of my abilities only work when I am in full control of my emotions, I was left with my free will. For some reason, the one who raised me relinquished me, telling me to run, and he made me swear never to heed his orders again. And from that moment I've been trying to find somewhere I belong." She looked back out to see.

"And the Paladins found you?"

"Not quite. During my service for the Scourge, I encountered a Silver Hand Priest that was not dead yet. There was little I could do for him, but he told me of the Silver Hand. I killed him mercifully and made sure there was nothing left for the necromancers to play with, memorized the insignia of the Silver Hand, and when I was turned loose, I started on a search for such an order." She smiled beneath her helmet, looking back at him. "Naïve, I know. I was very naïve, about everything that didn't have to do with war and undead. But I aided a group of humans- I reversed several _banshee possessions._ They decided to bring me to Stormwind, and it was by luck alone that the Elder Paladins were convinced I was trustworthy. I'm not susceptible to holy energy- only when I'm in full possession of all my emotions and thoughts. In fact, I can use it to heal myself. To them, that was enough to give me a chance."

"How did you end up in Lordaeron and the Plaguelands?"

"I ran away. I didn't belong in Stormwind. No one who can call undead to her aid belongs in Stormwind. They would have found out and distrusted and hated me for it. I didn't belong in Lordaeron either though. Half the people there are either maniacally depressed or maniacally sadistic. It's a side effect from dying and having the entire world hating you. So I started working against the Scourge and… well, forgive me, against the Scarlet Crusade, too. No use lying." His eyes narrowed, as if his suspicions had been confirmed.

"So you were the one who slaughtered a whole tower of our people."

"I'm sorry. It is never right to take life- even in defense. While I did what I had to, I will always regret some things." She stood up straight and came over to him, and he took a wary step backwards, placing a hand on the hilt of his sword. "There was one survivor- the only child in the place. I brought him to the Argent Dawn, and he should be with them now. If we ever have the time, and if any of his family is still living, it would be a blessing to reunite them. You know, you're a good deal less prejudiced then the rest of the Crusade. It's good to see such a thing in a faction most people associate with 'bias'." He stared at her, blinking in surprise, and continued staring as she bade him 'good day' and walked off. He had probably never encountered such a blunt person, and it left him a bit bewildered and doubting, as he tried to find fault with an argument that contained no deception. This was a good event in the life of that particular official of the Scarlet Crusade. It was the day he began thinking again. The same thing could not be said for the rest of the officials, who still glared daggers at Ketala as she walked down the ship's halls towards her room.

Ketala was lucky she hadn't been able to convince some of the more adamant of the Crusade. If they'd been in the army, they'd have already cracked and declared war against her. As it was, Ketala was about ready to crack and declare war on _them_.

* * *

(Cont.- The Orcish fleet and Northrend already visable on Outland)

As it happened, the Scarlet Crusade did not need its most adamant personas. It needed only a few pissed off Forsaken. At around three in the morning, Ketala rushed down into the cabin, just in time to brutally ram into a troll and send him sprawling beneath a bunch of chairs and tables. Out of commission. Next. Her eyes whirled vibrant, angry orange. Her helmet was off for once, and her hair was tied up behind her, her face akin to that of a stern parent dealing out punishment- aggrieved but pissed. As her Scimitars were not useful in such close quarters, she had dropped them, and was now favoring a buckler and club. The few who noticed her dashed out of her way. The multitude that didn't was rammed into, as she proceeded to whack each and every inch of living and undead that refused to get out of her way and retreat.

The whole process didn't take very long. She separated some of the combatants by knocking both unconscious, beating one away, or kicking one into something. A particularly annoying Satyr had one horn wrenched around 4 inches to the side, and was shrieking about its broken ribs. As soon as the combatants were all distanced and the situation was stabilized, Ketala glared around at them all, frowning with disappointment.

"One day," she said darkly. "One day before we reach the fleets around Northrend and begin the invasion. One day, and you lose your tempers now of all times." Her eyes shifted, and she looked down at a few smoked undead- charred corpses. There was one troll who's regeneration might not save him, and a few bloody human corpses. "You don't even heal each other," she said, her voice suddenly plaintive. "You kill and kill and kill, and yet what do you achieve?" She turned and looked at the Scarlet Crusade members, and gestured to their wounded and dead. "You didn't even try… Didn't even try to save them. You just tried to kill undead more because you saw them suffering. Didn't do a damn thing." Their fiery, angry expressions dissolved into pallor, and all of them stared down at their fallen comrades. "You say you kill undead to stop suffering, yet all your fighting does is bring more. We're going to Northrend to end the suffering- save your Hatred for Scourge, and not for those who would stand with you!" More downcast eyes. She turned and glared at the undead in turn. They didn't need a speech. Like all undead, they quailed under her powerful, wrathful mind, as each one was overflowed with emotions they had not felt in years.

"And what do you fight for? What makes you hate? You don't even know or remember. You say you hate humans- but only because they threatened you. So you go out and make them hate you more? Good job- you've contributed to bolstering the amount of people who've reason to threaten you. You say you have been run out by your family, and that gives you license to hate? Good job. Now someone out there lost a daughter, son, brother, sister, mother, or father, just as you have lost what is dear to you. May anything you've ever cared about applaud you for your outstanding logic. You want simply to kill?" Her eyes narrowed. "There is no room for killers in this world."

"Says you," said a voice. A particular voice- one Ketala knew very well. She shifted her gaze, turning it to Nathanos Blightcaller, and she smiled lightly.

"You kill because you hate yourself, and are trying to forget you care." He affected not to be touched by her words, though she noticed it fueled his hatred.

"Says you," he repeated. "Shall you define morals and values for us? Shall you tell us what we think or what we believe in, and then condemn us? Shall all the world be molded into little Ketalas? What makes you right? What makes us wrong? What says all the world must be defined by romantic ideas of forgiveness and 'love'? We do not want fine words- we want vengeance!" An angry, grumble/cheer of agreement from all sides. "I'll tell you what it is, dear Ketala. You are stronger then them, and they cannot stand against you. You've gone from savior to dictator just by analyzing it from another point of view."

"Oh? And what about peacekeeper? Everyone here wants to see Arthas dead, and everyone here has only agreed to band together because it is necessary. Anyone who does can take a boat back to wherever they belong."

"So you say. What makes us think that we need each other? Or, in fact, that we need you?" He said, examining his hands and carefully drawing out two hand axes that he had picked from the armory.

"Because on this ship there are equal numbers of Scarlet Crusade and Forsaken. If they fight, the victor will be horribly crippled." He nodded, conceding to her that point as he looked down at the near equal corpses on the ground.

"But why do we need each other? Arthas is weak."

"Because of me."

"I believe the Forsaken and Scarlet Crusade would disagree with you on that point." He said with a pleasant smile, and, indeed, the two factions were bristling, both indignant that she gave no credit to them and all their efforts. "We might fight toward the same goal, but why should we band together? The Forsaken want Arthas dead. The Scarlet Crusade wants to eradicate all unlife. We are not united- we will not aid one another on the battle field. We never will _want_ to be united. We will both fight and defeat Arthas on a ceasefire, but then we will go back to fighting one another. We don't _need_ to be forced together like this. The sooner you see that through all your blind naivety, the better."

"The Light is with me,"

"And a great deal that does influencing the undead to aid you. As for your little demonstration for the Scarlet Crusade, we all know you are as immune to holy energy as a human."

"That amount of holy energy would have killed a human- should have killed me." He shrugged.

"So you have strong armor. So what? That proves nothing. Your religion has blinded you with the same holy zeal you claim the Scarlet Crusade has- but in fact, you have no proof."

"It is a question of faith, not proof."

"Ah, a religious quote. Why should we have faith in you?" She fell silent, thinking over her answers, and she looked at him a long, long moment.

"Hatred leads to apathy- for a lack of respect for life or unlife. Death becomes common place, and the only pains that are felt are ones of vengeance. In the end, what we began fighting for is gone and forgotten. The only cause left is vengeance built on vengeance, until all dissolves into a hateful war that everyone excepts as perpetual even though no one ought to care any longer."

"Unless one side wins."

"Winning means nothing, Nathanos. You can kill as many undead as you like, and you've brought no one back."

"But you might have saved someone."

"No one that couldn't have been saved through peace."

"Unless the other side refuses peace."

"Then maybe you should both agree to stop refusing attempts at such a thing."

"You still save no one more. And besides, losing certainly doesn't bring anyone back from the dead."

"You save the people who you once would have called your enemy."

"And why, 'task handler', would we ever want to do that?"

"Well… Arthas didn't. And that's why you exist, and that's why they exist as you all do now." She said, turning her head and looking around at the Scarlet Crusade and Undead around her. "Arthas is a prime example of hatred and apathy and lack of anything resembling remorse. You become more and more like him every day, Nathanos Blightcaller."

"That is a philosophy only. What happened in one case does not have to happen in another. If we won, we would be free."

"Free to do what? You can't have children. You have no future. You can't enjoy anything but killing. Your country will dissolve due to a depletion of people 'living' there. Hell, Nathanos, till recently, you didn't even have a sense of taste. You'll kill and kill and kill till you have no enemies left, and then, with free time to think, you'll realize the same exact thing you realized when you laid wounded and dying." She tilted her head to the side. "You were just hoping you'd die first so your own suffering could be over with. All that killing, and the only thing you really ever hated was yourself. You want to numb yourself to caring, and numb yourself to pain and suffering, and when your senses are distorted by mindless, delighted fury, and you have nothing left to kill, you want to die." He growled, body tensing, and he glared at her darkly from beneath his hood.

"And how do you think unity could change that?" She shrugged lightly.

"Nathanos, I'm not certain anything could help you. I certainly cannot. But I know if everyone else manages to make peace with themselves, they stand a chance of not driving themselves to death and madness like you are trying to do. Maybe then, with less mad hatred, they stand a chance of having a worthwhile future. Something productive or even wholesome."

"Wishful thinking."

"Not quiet. Look at Leonid." Nathanos sneered at that name- few undead ever earned the title of "the Revered" and all of them were probably on Blighcaller's hate list.

"A fellow Paladin in undead ranks. How quaint. But it means nothing."

"He's raised that human boy for years now."

"So?"

"… Name one undead who can call himself, without insane glee, happy."

"…"

"I can name one- Lenoid."

"And not yourself?"

"I said, "himself"."

"And are you happy, Ketala?"

Ketala thought. She thought of her newest companion, Lachdan. She thought of Nathanos, and of all her beloved Undead, and of the war, and of Thrash, and of Uther, and of death and suffering… "Sometimes. Feeling all this death makes me cry at night."

"Sad that not everyone is under your whip?"

"I am no tyrant, Nathanos, just like you are no innocent sufferer."

"Oh? But if I threatened to pull apart this frail 'truce', you would kill me, wouldn't you?"

"No."

"Ah yes, I forgot how sensitive you were. Tell me, does the Crusade know you have Kel'thuzad on one of the ships?"

"Nathanos!"

"Or that you killed the Oracle Demetria in cold blood and brought her head back to me as a sign of the deed? Task-handler and nothing more! You are as dark and murderous as any of us!" A roar of outrage greeted this, and soon everyone was fighting everyone- not only the opposite faction.

Including Ketala. For the first time, Ketala lost her composure in relation to Nathanos Blightcaller. Her eyes flamed deep, dark, putrid red, and she rushed forward, armed picking up a sword as she went and dropping her club, and hacked at him with all the precision and skill that the 'task handler,' her 'alter ego,' had.

* * *

Another One of the Army's Ship's

For Zul'vii, however, the day was a happy one. That was the day that they met up with the Naga and their two ships.

Surprisingly, she avoided Illidan, hiding up in the mask and stealthing, melding into the shadows, and watching the ship below. Illidan spent around 30 minutes looking desperately around the ship, before he calmed down and listened. She held her breath, but he looked up at her after a few moments anyway, and snorted. She burst out laughing, unstealthing and climbing down towards him. As she neared ground level, she dropped to the ground and he strode forward, catching her in his massive arms. She gave a small oof and grinned up at him. And he grinned back- dropping her. She grunted, landing on her rump and rubbing it, glaring up at him. After a moment she tackled him, and the two rolled across the deck a foot or so and slammed into the small wall that lined the deck. She ended up on top, fanning her huge wings to stay balanced, and she laughed, even as he bodily picked her up and stood.

The two companions were reunited.

* * *

**OKAY EVERYONE! HERE'S THE POLL!**

Who is your favorite charecter and why?

Here's our charecter list:

Ketala - Trua, Angel of Compassion, half elemental undead, paladinZul'vii - Curiato, Angel of Healing, half troll half elf  
MahiMahi - Angel of Strength, buds with Keever  
Keever - Former Apothecary, sometimes refers to self in 3rd person, Mahi's companion. Now has uber Plate and spear weilding powers.  
Thrasher - Ketala's massive lynx, related to the Nightsabers  
Kel'Thzuad - Undead litch, second to Arthas. Now currently stuck with Ketala.  
Anub'Arak - Undead Nerubian King, third to Arthas. Currently being tortured by Sylvanis  
Sylvanis Windrunner - Banshee Queen of the Undercity  
Varimathras - Demonic majordomo under Sylvanis. BETRAYER!  
Nathanos Blightcaller - Sylvanis's Champion, the Former Ranger Lord Nathanos Marris, the one and only Undead Hunter. Stuck with Ketala as well, and is probably not sane. My personal favorite.  
Gydrion - Paladin who trained Ketala and acted as a substitute father figure  
Uther - Cool dead paladin. DECEASED  
Euquin - Undead Abomination, Half Night Elf, Half Human. Wow, we haven't seen her for awhile.  
Zul'jin - Zul'vii's father. Troll, leader of the Forest Trolls. Most cunning leader in known history. DECEASED  
Myev - Zul'vii's Mother. Elf Angel. Sent by some Demigod to save Zul'jin. DECEASED  
Jerod - Undead Ghoul who almost fully recuperated under Ketala's care. Friend to Lodan and Euquin. DECEASED  
Lodan - Former Death Knight and Paladin who gave up both to become a warrior under Ketala  
Tyrande Whisperwind - Night Elf High Priestess  
Malfurion Stormrage - Illidan's brother. Archdruid of the Night Elves.  
Illidan Stormrage - Furion's brother. Sorcerer and Demonhunter. Befriended Zul'vii. Uber.  
Arthas/Ner'zhul - Booooooooo! You stink!  
Jaina Proudmoore - Human ruler of Theramore Isle. Sorcerer. Born to a sea faring nation. Currently possesses one of the best navys, if not the best in the world. Is currently being held captive and mindless by evil Arthas/Ner'zhul. I hope his orc side isn't... desirious... after so many years being stuck in a block of ice. That would be bad.  
Thrall - Son of Durotan, Orc Warchief of the Horde. Shaman. Weilds the Doomhammer (Ogrim Doomhammer's old weapon). Has a cool wolf. Bud's with Jaina.  
Mag - Zul'vii's seer. White cuddly Satyr.  
Vol'jin - Zul'vii's cousin. Mostly Island Troll. Ruler of the Darkspear tribe. Sadly, 'Pinkspear' was already taken.  
Sen'jin - (Not really a main charecter, but he was Vol'jin's father and Zul'jin's half brother.)  
Cairne Bloodhoof - Leader of the Tauran  
Aweo - Self explanitory  
Eldiaren - The first ghoul Ketala befriended. DECEASED.  
Ander - The Paladin in charge of teaching the art of combat in Stormwind. Helped Ketala draw the Scarlet Crusade onto her side.  
High Priest Thel'danis - guards Uther's Tomb  
Therian Firewalker - Blood Elf That befriends Ketala when she saves his life from abominations. Haven't seen him for awhile  
Kadre - lead Argent Dawn for awhile. Gave Varimathras the impression he had been replaced. DECEASED.  
Locke - The leader of the human war party that found Ketala and brought her back to Stormwind. Haven't seen him for awhile.  
Othen - the Paladin that at first distrusted Ketala, but after seeing her ability to touch holy light brought her before Ander, Gydrion, and the other elder to see if she were worthy of accepting aid from Stormwind. Haven't seen him for awhile.  
Scarlet Crusade Official - Talked philosophy with Ketala  
Scarlet Crusade Priest - Ketala saved her from being turned into an undead and she's currently following the arm. Discussed philosophy with Ketala.  
Admiral Daelin Proudmoore - a misunderstood, biased, slightly evil, good guy. Boooo! he stinks!  
Lachdan - Ketala's newest companion. Not yet Deceased. Was once a paladin.  
Vashj - She hasn't had much of a part yet. don't worry, she will.  
Kael'Thas - Kael rules. He loves Jaina too  
Maive - we haven't seen much of her have we? Dang it, how is her name spelled agian? I can never remember. I hate Maive. She's crazy.  
The Maid Who Got Turned Into a Naga - She'll have some point one day. If I remember that long :P

Okay everyone, vote!


	29. Dante A moment of peace

Hey Everyone! The poll shall continue, so review and let me know who your favorite charecters are!

However, this time around, I want to know who your least favorite charecters are! Bwahahahah! I shall draw the score board so we can keep track.

:Pulls out some chalk:

Ner'zhull/Arthas/LichKing: Grand Admiral Proudmoore:  
-------------------------------------------------------------

Hehe

No, no, you can pick others if you want. I'm sure someone out there hates my main charecters. Well, anyhow, I hope you guys like this chapter. It came so easily I just had to write it! Now I must go, 2 days before Halloween, and make myself a costume! Impossible? Of course it is! But I shall triumph!

* * *

**_Dante_**

* * *

Aboard the Ship, Heading for Northrend, Just a Day from Joining with the Orcish Fleets. 

For the first time, Nathanos successfully enraged Ketala. In every other instance of confrontation between them, Ketala Truae had dealt with Nathanos calmly and skillfully. However, even angels have breaking limits. Laying his sins on her- blaming her for deaths she already regretted- pushed Ketala off the edge of patience. She rushed at him with all the fury and anger she possessed, andhacked at him madly with the sword, parrying the blows of one of his axes on her buckler. And he laughed…

Oh how he laughed… She was lucky that she was beyond normal comprehension, or she would have been driven to further anger. He fought back like the night-fiend he was, fast and powerful, and he made sure that she was using every skill and power in her. The ship had dissolved into chaos, with Nathanos and Ketala as the epitome of it all. She saw nothing- heard nothing- felt nothing. The task-handler saw all, heard all, felt all. Every tiny move caught its eye, and it strove to defeat its opponent- its single-minded purpose. Slowly, ever so slowly, Ketala pushed Nathanos backwards. His feet yielded ground as he was shoved back further and further. She used her shield as a guard and club, hacking the blunt edge at him like a glaive and using the surface of it to bear the weights of his axe. When the shield gave out under the blows of his skilled axe, she released the shattered wood and dropped to the ground,rolling to the side and ripping a dagger from the ground. Then shelunged back at him and using her feet to stop her body short, just in time for her to dodge a kick he had meant to trip her with and an axeswing intendedto behead.

When a skilled, hacking blow injured the fingertips of her dagger wielding hand, jarring the dagger from her fingers, she snaked her arm above his, latched ontohis wrist with her bloody, wounded fingers, and shoved both of their arms down hard. At the same time, shereleased her short sword and grabbing his other arm, keeping it from swinging down. The arm she caught with her bloody hand was slowly forced downwards. Due to the structure of the human arm, it was near impossible for him to lift his axe up with her so forcefully pushing it down. The other axe, however, was above them, and it came down towards Ketala slowly. She braced herself, grunting as a kick slammed hard into her leg. He released the axe she had pinned, seeking to free his arm and to gain control out of the situation.

Perfect. The task handler let him force her down, dropping to her knees and letting kick after kick rain down upon her torso. In a quick movement, she released the arm of his that she still held pinned in her one bloody hand, and grabbed his dropped axe from the floor.

Too late, he saw the ruse, and watched, strangely quiet, as she cleaved upward with a massive, arcing, impractical stroke, cutting deep into his thight.Hamstrung. He hadlifted one foot to kick at her with- to get her away before she could strike him. He'd been rewarded with a satisfying crack as he hit her ribcage. But now the leg that he still had on the ground, holding him up, crumbled beneath him, and he fell backwards. Hamstrung. He didn't have a single connected muscle left in the side of his thigh. He'd be lucky if he got back to his feet again the entire battle, and that was a huge disadvantage. She let go of him, drawing back and looked down at him, watching him pull himself back to his knees, carefully arranging his legs beneath him.

Calmly and mindlessly, she drew off the belt of one of her scimitar sheathes, empty of their blades, for she had dropped them earlier. Carefully, she drew one of her shoulders tight against her body and belted it there. Her collar bone was broken, and it was unlikely that she could put that shoulder to much use, so she bound it in order to keep it from moving around in a haphazard fashion.With her other hand,Ketala hefted the one axe. She watched him grin with maniac glee, holding his own axe at ready, but she did not watch with the eyes of Ketala. She knew _exactly_ what he planned on doing, and she had no intention of preventing it. She picked up a bloody shield from the ground- a nimble, small thing, and equipped it in the hand of her disabled arm. Then she rushed forward, the axe at ready, and whipped it at him. He countered, warding off the disk-like hack of her shield with one arm, receiving welts for his pains.

And then he slipped. He did something Nathanos Blightcaller could never be accused of accidentally doing, and his grip on his own axe slipped. With glee, he watched as the axe blade neared his neck… And with further glee, he watched as the tip stopped. Ketala's face contorted horribly, her whole arm shaking.

He knew Ketala far too well. He knew the roll of 'heroine' and 'savior' too well to have ever actually believed he could have gotten Ketala to kill him. No, Nathanos's true reason for dropping his axe was much more convoluted. He had known that if he put himself in such a vulnerable position- if he made it seem like he was trying to kill himself- something in her would fight back.

And if she had not stopped her blade, what would it have mattered?

Now, in wake of her indecision and conflict, he regained his grasp on the falling axe, and reversed it all in one nimble movement. With the sickening sound of breaking sinew, bone, and muscle- a series of pops, clicks, sucks, and rips all too close together to be distinguished from one another- he swung the axe into her side. Her eyes didn't even widen. She looked down at him while he ripped the axe out and hacked at her again. Such a precious, skilled fighter… She moved in time- though just barely. She got her axe under the blow and warded it off. The next blow came, and she moved- far too slowly- to counter it…

An ice nova blossomed up from around her. Though it did not touch her whatsoever, not even to make her slightly chilly, it blasted across Nathanos and everyone still alive in the room, impairing their speed and freezing some entirely. Ketala countered the blow, and whipped the back of her axe against Nathanos's temple, effectively dazing him and knocking him over.

WithKetala's opponent sprawled half unconscious on the floor, the task handler perceived that its task was done. The red whirling of the eyes ceased. The mindless expression transformed slowly into one of pain and sorrow, and tears slipped silently down Ketala's cheeks asshe stared down at Nathanos Blightcaller...

Skeletal fingers closed gently around her, making sure not to touch her wounds. She shivered, sliding backwards until her back met Kel'Thuzad's ribcage, and she leaned against him, lifting her head and looking up at his face. So familiar. So… _right_… Dark blue eyes of aura and ice… That bared-teeth grin of amusement.

All at once, her mind was assailed by the suffering around her. So many wounded… so many angry…

"I failed…" she said weakly. "I failed them… I should have been able to stay in control. I should have stayed in control. I shouldn't have listened to his words…" His head tilted to the side, and a tusk cupped her jaw and cheek gently.

So familiar…

_Ketala…_

She was truly surprised when she heard Nathanos scream out in rage, launching at them, half dazed and with only one good leg. Amazingly, he ignored Ketala all together- never laying a hand on her, even though she was between him and Kel'Thuzad. Instead, rage in his eyes, he right out slugged Kel'Thuzad. The punch of a drunkard. The lich was so stunned and unprepared for such a blow, that he released Ketala and glided backwards. Nathanos pounced at him, tearing at him with an axe and his bare fingers, like a wild animal that had been cornered. She whirled, staring at Nathanos, and her eyes widened. She dashed the few steps to them, grabbing Nathanos around the waist and trying to haul him off of Kel'Thuzad.

"Nathanos- Stop it!"

He paid her no heed, and she was sufficiently wounded that he stayed on the thrashing Kel'Thuzad, despite the gouts of ice he received for his efforts, snarling with rage and screaming incoherently in a mix of gutter speak and elfish. Ketala was lucky she could not understand elfish, because some of the things she did understand were already making her squirm. She released Nathanos, and turned, looking for her scimitars… And then witnessed the battle still going on- neither side gaining an advantage for long, all of them half frozen. All thoughts of Kel'Thuzad and Nathanos fled as her mind was filled with their unending hatreds and pains… She dashed into the fray, drawing out those who were wounded so that they were not trampled by their comrades. From there, she found the club she had dropped, and spun, looking hopelessly at the battle that had scaled into dramatic proportions.

Good god, what had she done? What could she do? She dropped to her knees among the blood strewn walls, her eyes filled with pain and sorrow. Her head lowered, and she grasped the hand of a wounded, dying human. Ketala's lips moved in prayer, and she whispered words of pleading to whatever god and whatever ideal the Light represented. A shrill, high pitched shriek rose from the air around them, a piercing sound that seemed to transcend space and time. Everyone save Nathanos and Ketala covered their ears, screaming in excruciating pain as their noses bled and their teeth chattered. And then, light an explosion, a single beam of life burst through the woodwork, ripping in and boring through the entire ship. Shockwaves spread across the ocean and the throughout the wood of the ship, and holy light poured into every being, _even the undead_, and sealed their wounds, forcing their broken, ruined body parts back together.

When the light ended, the inhabitants of the ship had a lot more to worry about then whether or not to continue fighting, when most of them were close to unconsciousness and all of them felt ill and in awe. Though it took around 10 minutes for anyone to react, someone at last came to reality, just in time to say some very important information.

"My shoes are wet…"

At which point everyone suddenly realized the ship was sinking. Everyone except Nathanos, that is. He was currently deaf, and he probably wouldn't have cared anyway, as he was still busy trying to break every last one of Kel'Thuzad's ribs off.

* * *

(Cont.)

It was fortunate that Vashj and her people were present, or they would have never patched the hole in the ship's side. The powerful movements of the naga far surpassed that of any land creature in wake of the currents of water that rushed into the ship, and they were able to quickly close it with water while their land-faring counterparts pumped out the water from within. A few skilled wood-workers among the various crews successfully sealed the patch against leaks, and the rest of the water was pumped out. Nathanos, however, had been another problem. Somehow, Nathanos had managed to get one of his various poisons onto a blade, and this particular one ate at magical energy. Needless to say, he had no more magical trouble from the lich, and the two had taken to wrestling in a manner that seemed absurd for a ranger and a mage, each trying to claw the other one apart. Poor Kel'Thuzad. This whole endeavor had stripped him of so much dignity…

After explaining her desire not to harm either of the two undead fanatics, Ketala enlisted Lodan, Ander, and Lachdan. Between the four of them, they were able to pull the two combatants away from each other just long enough for someone to sap Nathanos and daze him entirely. Kel'Thuzad, who by then had lost all composure, snarled and clawed at the people who held him, trying to get at the Ranger Lord in a most inelegant fashion. Kel'Thuzad, being a mage, obviously knew Elvin. Ketala didn't know what Nathanos had said, but it must have been some masterful piece of provocation for it to anger a person who otherwise had no emotions whatsoever.

Or Kel'Thuzad, despite his best efforts, was being changed by Ketala's influence. But then that lifted a question: Why had Nathanos so quickly and mindlessly assaulted Kel'Thuzad? One moment he had been attacking Ketala, and then the next he had disregarded her all together. She could see Nathanos attacking Kel'Thuzad simply to get him back for saving Ketala, but then why would he have entirely ignored her? And why had Kel'Thuzad saved her in the first place? Ketala might have been Naïve, but she was not stupid. She knew Kel'Thuzad was not some long lost paternal guardian- he had as much reason to want her dead as anyone else.

For the life of her, she could not understand why either of these two being had acted in the way that they had. Ketala backhanded Kel'Thuzad and grabbed him by both tusks, steering his eyes to hers and looking silently down into the depth of his blue, frosty eyes. He calmed almost immediately, and made a snorting noise, as if disgusted. _He will kill you one day _he prophesized after a moment. _If Arthas does not, _he _will. And he has such a great advantage._

_How so?_ she asked.

_He understands you. He understands how you think, he knows what goes through your mind, and he knows exactly how to fool you. You saw it yourself. He knew you would fight your fighter's side in order to save him, and he purposefully used that moment of indecision against you. Nathanos Blightcaller is a tactical genius. Insane, and extremely intelligent. He knows how to undo you, and he will at his leisure._

_Why do you care?_

…

_Why?_

_Ketala…_ He lifted an arm and Ander and Lodan eyed her for instructions. She said nothing, watching Kel'Thuzad's dark blue eyes as he lifted a skeletal hand to her cheek, gently cupping her face in his fingers of white bone. She lifted a hand to his, holding his ice-hold limb against her cheek for a brief moment.

Then, upon hearing Nathanos snarl as he approached pure consciousness again, she released her guardian's hand and whirled around, grabbing both of Nathanos's hands and tying them together, wedging a piece of wood from a splintered shield between his fingers and binding that to his hands as well. Good- now he couldn't move his hands or free them. He hissed as his eyes gained focus, narrowing in her direction. She caught one of his feet- his legs newly healed- as he lashed out at her with it, and she grinned, twisting and jerking his whole body over so he lay on his stomach. There- now he'd have a tough time kicking. She removed the sheath belt she'd used to hold her wounded arm- also healed- and used it to bind his legs together. When someone brought her more rope, she reinforced the binding with that. At this point, she grabbed hold of the binding around his legs, and promptly began to drag him away, cheek dragging on the ground, and he snarled and twisted, sputtering out words of hatred and wit as she pulled him to his room. She dragged him up beside his hammok, picked his light body up, and deposited him on it. Then she sat on him, balancing perfectly on his back and pinning him effectively.

Now, one might think, "Nathanos is not light because he is undead! Ketala is also undead. Why should she be any heavier?" but we must remember that Ketala was a paladin. That is- she was in full, seventy pound full plate. Ketala weighed enough that she could smoosh Nathanos down just a bit into the hammok and keep him from thrashing. Seventy pounds is a lot. Just ask your mother. You were only around 10 pounds when you were in her stomach, along with everything else in the womb with you, and she sure as hell didn't enjoy the weight one bit. True, her armor was a massive assembly of various different types of style, including some parts that were magical, some that were elfin, and some parts of leather or chain mail, but gravity was enough to work against Blightcaller anyway.

He grunted, shifting under her weight lightly, and she shook her head, gently rubbing his shoulder and neck. "We'll be in Northrend soon. Are you going to help fight against Ner'Zhul, or do you have something else in mind?" There was stillness as he forced himself to think and contemplate. As he did so, she gently but firmly rubbed against the dead muscles of his shoulder and neck.

"Ah… but if I did that, you would not be able to come."

"And why is that?"

"You have forbidden yourself to come on any 'errands' that I am around to perform." Well, at least he was in good humor. "Tell me, Ketala, can you feel them?"

"Them?"

"The undead in Northrend."

"Very lightly."

"Oh? So you will not be able to turn the battle again?"

"The last time I turned a battle, my enemy had not expected it and it still drove me so far past my adrenaline limit that I slept endlessly afterwards. But yes, I will be able to call the most aware of them to our side, and I'll be able to call over some more during the hectic fighting."

"Why do you feel them so lightly then?"

"I don't know. I think Arthas is doing something to try and keep my mind separated from theirs'. They're so lonely at the times when the contact is weak… And I can't feel any of the liches."

"A pity. They were one of the deciding factors in the last battle. You are going to have to find some way to replace the weapon that turning their own commanders against them gave you."

"Well, what would you suggest?" He thought for a long moment, his dead eyes unblinking. At times, Ketala wondered how undead or Night Elves could see at all, what with all that light being reflected back into their eyes from the glow they emitted.

Then again, it was probably magical in origin, and thus possibly could not be reflected, refracted, or otherwise broken up and turned back into the eye. No animals had glowing eyes unless they had been around demonic taint too long.

"Your strategy of going after the living members of the Scourge is effective. Continue to employ it, but on grander scales at the onset of the battle. They love to group necromancers together for support. Send the large flying units against them. One breath from a Skeletal Dragon and you will have iced necromancer shards scattered in all directions for yards. You don't need to worry about taking buildings. Arthas's men are limited, and his forces can only take so much damage. Keep as many fronts open as possible, and use plenty of decoys and distractions."

"Why so many distractions and fronts?"

"Spreads his forces thinner."

"But we'll be spread thin, too…"

"Arthas isn't the one attacking- he's defending. As you'll be approaching the island from all sides, you'll have plenty of time to burn every last ship you see, and the blockade will keep him from getting any more ships out into the open. Also, I suggest posting naga as your guards. Considering undead do not need to breathe, some of them might try attacking our ships from below ground. The last thing your ships need is an iceberg exploding into existence beneath them."

"What about Arthas himself? What if he decides to take to the battlefield?"

"Do not fight Arthas, in any way."

"What? Why?"

"Arthas is Sylvanis's problem. Let her take care of him. She will enjoy it, and she has the heart and mind to do it. You, on the other hand…" He looked up at her with disdain, watching her slowly undo the ropes that bound his legs.

"I?"

"Your mind is no match for his. He will drown out all that 'hope' and 'light' you cling to in an instant. If you fought him mentally, it would be like a feeble child challenging a swordsman. If you fought him in hand to hand combat, I'm sure he can put enough mental strain on you to gain the upper hand."

"What if I let myself handle the situation as the killer you so love?"

"Ah…" he said, a smile twisting his features. "Your weapon and shield all in one. Your mind is almost impossible to reach in that state, but if he does break through, you will be hopeless and defenseless without any logic to hold against his mind. If _I_ could do it simply by putting myself in danger, I'm sure he could find a way." She grunted, thinking to herself.

"He is not the better swordsman."

"No," he said, conceding that point, "but this is not a test of blades. It is a test of wits. If we could implant Sylvanis's mind in your head- ah… then we would have the perfect tool-." He fell silent and a wicked, evil look stole across his features. He laughed aloud, and twisted so he was looking up at her. "We shall have Sylvanis possess you." Ketala blinked, shrinking back.

"What?"

"We shall have Sylvanis possess you. Without your mind interrupting the process, and if you willing surrender your memories of how to wield a blade to her, we shall have created the perfect fighter to meet him on the field."

"And you are saying Sylvanis is not a good enough warrior to take Ner'zhull on?" Nathanos laughed darkly.

"No, of course not. She was driven off by that 'arch mage' lich of yours, even when she could have ended Arthas right then and there. Sylvanis is a Ranger _General_. She may be the most skilled archer in the world and one of the most skilled commanders, but it will take far more then that to defeat him now. He has all the powers of the greatest of the liches and the greatest of death knights in one. But you… You are a paladin…"

"That's another problem. When my mind is not my own, I lose all my paladin capabilities." He frowned, not having expected this obstacle.

"Well then, we shall have to concoct some fashion for you both to share one head. Sylvanis will be the only way you will mentally survive Arthas. It is her mental skills that shields herself and all who follower her from Ner'zhul's will. Inside your head, she should have enough skill to shield you." Ketala snorted, evidently not liking the idea of sharing her brain with a crazy undead elf, but, heck, she'd been through worse.

"If you can find a way, I will do it. But only until he is dead." Nathanos smiled slyly.

"I do not think Sylvanis could bear your mind much longer then you could bear hers. Now, I have a question."

"Ask as you will."

"What will you do if Arthas is defeated?" Ketala tilted her head to the side.

"Many things. There will be quite a few undead out there without a master, and quite a few with a master that will require slaying. There are crazy religious fanatics running around the countryside, endless demonic cults, and a psycho banshee ranger that all need some looking after. That and I have to figure out what the ruddy heck I'm going to do with Kel'Thuzad. And you, of course. I'm going to have to trail after you like an unwanted hound to make sure you don't do anything my bias considers stupid." A malicious grin spread over his face- so evil and horrible that Ketala felt like shrinking back from him. "I have a question first, though," she said quickly.

"Ask," he said with amusement, his evil grin turning to a smirk of vile satisfaction.

"Why is it you hate me? Or, more precisely, why is it that you hate everyone?" He grinned and held out his bound hands to her. She undid the bindings, waiting for his answer.

"Why is you trust me? As soon as my hands are free, I could try and kill you again." She shook her head.

"You wouldn't."

"Wouldn't I?"

"No. You wouldn't find it ironic enough." She earned a laugh.

"No indeed, brilliant child. At least some things filter through your naivety and stick in that cloudy head of yours. How long did that one take to discover? A month? Two? Whatever shall I do with my secret unveiled. Perhaps the presence of some children will further cloud your mind so you cannot read me so easily?" When he hands were free, he propped himself up on his elbows and leaned towards her, smiling evilly. "My… " he said in a breathless tone, "Aren't you beautiful… covered in the blood of those who were slaughtered by your lack of control." He received what he wanted- the sound of her gloves tightening into clenched fists.

"Ah? Have I touched a nerve? What kind of undead are you that your feelings are so soft? I remember that battle at the Bulwark with the Scarlet Crusade. I could feel your thoughts from the Undercity. Do you know what you did, Ketala? Do you know what you did out of lack of self control? Tears poured down your face, didn't they? You screamed and raved in half mad monologues, and you ran. You ran away from your pain and suffering, and many innocent living people- people you had no 'emotional pain' for when they died. You saved your own emotions. You weren't even trying to save your undead- just your own blind sorrows. Grand Leader and Decider above us all- the woman of endless grieving. If you were not such a great swordsman- if you were not so skilled at dealing death and suffering, you would long ago have perished in any one of the simple tasks I gave you." She looked up at him, her eyes whirling sickly blue-green as he spoke, and he was careful to avoid eye contact. She was silent a long moment, and then she sighed.

"You are extremely abusive, you know that? You're even worse then you used to be. It used to be you didn't care one way or the other what happened- whether I died or lived, it was the same to you. Just as long as _someone_ accomplished the task, you were fine. Sarcastic, grim, hateful, irritable. But now you've stepped it up a notch. Now you're just having fun playing with my head. You're not insane so much as delighted that you have something to play with. I applaud you for your entire lack of empathy, Nathanos. If it is your goal to distance yourself from every emotion or pain on the surface of this planet, you shall one day soon succeed." She lowered her head a bit, her eyes blazing from under her lowered brows. "I saw often in Stormwind that the greatest bullies among children were those who suffered themselves. Not only are you extremely petty, Nathanos Blightcaller, but the only reason you like to watch me writhe in my anguish is because it helps you take your mind off your own."

"Oh? Perhaps you are right. Before you leave however, I would like to point out that you would make a stunning replacement for a warlock's pet." She lifted her brows, sifting through this wit to try and figure out what he was trying to say.

When she did, she wished she had stayed naïve. As Nathanos had twisted around and propped himself up, he had intentionally caused her to shift her full body weight off of where she had been sitting on his back, pinning him. Now, sadly, she was sitting on his waist.

He was making a lewd comment about her being a replacement for a succubus.

"I am glad someone finds me pretty," she said lightly, and she stepped off the hammock and walked away, with him laughing gleefully behind her.

* * *

(Later that Night)

What with how many times he had been sapped during the course of the day, Nathanos rested that night, though he detested the human impulse. He had learned to ignore the humanoid desires of sleep, knowing that rest would sate his new body amply, and now he suddenly had need of it again.

But as he was not truly that tired, he fought against this impulse, and he turned his head, looking at the sparse furnishings of his room. Rudimentary furniture all bolted to the floors and walls. His gear. A lamp burning softly. He idly considered burning the ship down, but doubted he could successfully accomplish such a feat without someone noticing in time to spoil it all. A shattered mirror. He gazed silently at his own reflection, still a bit repulsed at how… how _human_ he looked. Still…

He wormed out of his hammock and walked toward the mirror, reaching forward and directing the sharp glass so he could see himself. So human and unfamiliar.

So strangely familiar… He had successfully distorted his visage, making it so that no one would recognize his face, and so that he looked more… undead. Still, beneath the puckered wounds he could see the basic contours of his face. A taunt, shrewd, almost feral face, with gold-glowing hawk eyes, an aristocratic nose, and either grim or sneering lips. Grim or sneering. That was more like him. He had been enjoying his mind games with Ketala a bit too much. His sarcasm wasn't uncaring enough, and his retorts were more cruel then apathetic. Why had he changed? He had suddenly gone a long way from the last time he had seen Ketala, at the first battle of the War. From flat out rude and abrasive, he had become…

Insane? Or not so much insane as abusive… Ketala had changed him. Somehow, despite all his efforts, Ketala's presence had altered him. Despite the amusement and irony it afforded him, his unoccupied hand clenched. _She_ had done this to him, and made him this way. This was not Nathanos Blightcaller's doing. Because of Ketala, he had suddenly shifted into this wild and cruel state- so far removed from his normal sadistic apathy. And the question remained- why?

Well, there was only one apparent reason, as much as it was strange. For some reason, he wanted to cause the greatest pain imaginable to Ketala Truae. Every fibre in him insisted upon it, that he must do unto Ketala wrath equal to all his frustration and hatred. He wanted her to suffer.

But why? Well, logically the reason people want other people to suffer is because they hate them. Did Nathanos hate Ketala? Certainly. But why? He lifted one of his hands and examined it, frowning at the skeletal tips. Maybe he should have been so hasty in gnawing off his own fingers. She was right- he'd be better off as an archer with them intact.

Ah, now he had a moment to think- a moment when he wasn't plotting some new cruelty or delighting over a past one. Delighting over a past cruelty… That didn't seem like him either.

Alright, so what was like him? Who was Nathanos Blightcaller supposed to be? He lifted up the glass, eying himself through it, and noting the hawkish brown hair that had survived his disfiguration attempts.

Dead. Nathanos Blightcaller was supposed to be dead, and Ketala changed him just by showing up. What was he before that? A warrior… Champion of Sylvanis, the only undead Ranger Lord.

His hound! How could he have forgotten his hound? Where was it now? His called for it mentally, but received no answer, and he swore lightly, looking back at the glass. Actually, he probably hadn't looked that bad as a human. And since when was his purpose to disgust people with how ugly he was, anyway? Sure, that was a perk, but it was also a perk to be able to slip by as human. Now that he thought about it, the face beneath his scarring reminded him of himself far more then his disfiguration did.

It was like a mock version of himself… A mock version… Perhaps he was trying to hard to hate Ketala, and not trying hard enough to figure out why exactly he hated her. And why did he hate her? Because the alternative to hating her was to give in and let her decide who he was…

Which was, oddly, exactly what Nathanos had been prepared to do when Arthas had offered him and end to pain… So what was the difference? Why chose Arthas over Ketala? Why hate Ketala more? He went back to his hammock and sat, looking down at his own deformed countenance. Because Arthas asked nothing but mindless obedience…? Because it was easy to give in to Arthas. Becoming a ghoul made everything simple and peaceful.

The nature of the Scourge.

Ketala made everything ten thousand times more complicated. She found every old wound and pried it open again to let the infection out. She stabbed relentlessly at a heart until it divulged its wounded locations and allowed her to examine, ruthlessly, every last one, before she at last found out how to mend them. And then, after that, you had to live, knowing every moment that you were changed by her… She decided who you would be.

He continued looking at himself in the mirror, and tilted his head to the side.

Yet she had told him that the reason she did not want him to die was because he'd resisted that part of her. She didn't want to control him. She had no intention of trying to control him. So why? Why did _he, _personally, hate Ketala Truae?

Because it hurt… Thinking hurt. Caring hurt. He hadn't had to think about all that he had forsaken till he had met Ketala… and she had brought him that registry… It pained and stung like a thousand bees. And why had he been able to give into Arthas? It had made him happy. The mindlessness had given him what he longed for…

Peace… Blissful peace… and Ketala brought conflict and pain. Out of the two, he would much rather be Scourge. Which meant that Ketala had read him perfectly. She had known why he'd sought death, even before he realized why himself.

"You kill because you hate yourself, and are trying to forget you care."

"Arthas is a prime example of hatred and apathy and lack of anything resembling remorse. You become more and more like him every day, Nathanos Blightcaller."

"Hatred leads to apathy- for a lack of respect for life or unlife. Death becomes common place, and the only pains that are felt are ones of vengeance. In the end, what we began fighting for is gone and forgotten. The only cause left is vengeance built on vengeance, until all dissolves into a hateful war that everyone excepts as perpetual even though no one ought to care any longer."

"You'll kill and kill and kill till you have no enemies left, and then, with free time to think, you'll realize the same exact thing you realized when you laid wounded and dying. You were just hoping you'd die first so your own suffering could be over with. All that killing, and the only thing you really ever hated was yourself. You want to numb yourself to caring, and numb yourself to pain and suffering, and when your senses are distorted by mindless, delighted fury, and you have nothing left to kill, you want to die."

Perfectly, Ketala had read him so perfectly. He was unhappy. He was morbidly unhappy. When he had lain, burnt and dying in the Undercity, he had felt such a similar unhappiness. So prone and helpless, he had begged her to let him die, so much so that he might have cried if he had still possessed a fully functioning body. And for whatever reason, he had a feeling of exuberance and relief when he transferred that mental anguish to her.

And that posed a question- why had he accepted Ketala's help? After all these anguishes and sufferings and underlying hatred and depression, why had he let her save him? Because of her last words… Her promise that she did not want to change him, but to change what had been done to him… to make him happy. Her very words! "I want to make you happy". That was why… That was why he let her save him. And hadn't she? She'd had Zul'vii heal him through and through. And that was why Ketala fought to open his mind to her. She wanted to heal everything. She wanted to take back all that had happened since his death and give him back all of himself he had kept suppressed. Perhaps he would suffer, and perhaps he would change, but would it not be worthwhile to be free and whole then to be broken and mindless, but caged for all eternity? And that was why, for a short while, she had called him by a different name. She had called him "Nathanos Marris," because she was willing to give him back that long-lost identity.

But he didn't want to care. He didn't want to think about what had happened. He wanted to put it away and move on. That was what he wanted. Yet… if that is what he wanted… why was he so unhappy? Was death the only way to heal this? Was he to die unhappy as well?

And what did unhappiness matter? It hadn't plagued him before she'd come…

Or maybe he'd just grown used to it. He dropped the glass, letting it shatter on the ground, and he dropped his disfigured face to his ruined hands.

So many questions without answers, so many thoughts without basis. Who was he, who did he want to be, and why the hell did he react to situations like he did? Was he manipulated, angry, normal, or… or what?

Cruel gods… He knew why he hated Ketala. He truly was insane. He hated Ketala because Ketala did not hate him. Because she offered him hope and he was too wounded to believe anything would come of it but more pain. He hated her out of jealousy for how happy she was, even when she offered it freely. Nathanos Blightcaller was afraid to be let down. And that was not like him at all. Pissed? Quite. Irritated? Yes. Afraid?

* * *

Somewhere Else Aboard the Ship

Keever grinned devilishly (or at least, as devilishly as he could. The poor guy lacks a lower jaw) from where he was perched on the back mast of the ship. Beside him, his Angelic Companion chuckled happily. Her voice- her real, un-telepathic voice, was strong and deep. He had never heard her speak, but her laughter was enough for him to know the qualities of her voice.

_Very good, my friend_ she murmured in her hybrid telepathy._ You are even getting better at detecting what people need._

"All through you, Hyjuori," he answered, looking at her. MahiMahi, or Hyjuori, the name she had given only to Keever, altered her appearance frequently, casting on her guises as one would cast on favorite garments. This one, he was particularly fond of. She had shock-orange hair, the color she loved most, and dark brown eyes that were so common they contrasted greatly with her hair. Her hair was only around a foot in length, but she had styled it like spiky plumes of a bird or frills of a lizard, and so it cascaded from her face like the crown of a phoenix. Her skin was white with pearly green whirls, and her four long wings, two branching from before her shoulders and two from behind, were all brilliant oranges and reds and yellows. She was only a tad taller then him in this form, as it seemed to be a law of the land that all important beings besides Jaina Proudmoore and Ketala Truae must be enormous when it came to height.

Yes. You caught it. That was a play on how all the heroes in Warcraft Three are around 3 times larger then anything around them, and how more powerful mobs are also designated by their size.

"Why is he so tormented?" Mahi sighed, tilting her head to the side, and looked down towards the ship, towards the exact location of Nathanos.

_Nothing can truly ever be attributed to one, sole cause. He is conflicted for many, many reasons._

"Part of Arthas's taint is in him."

_And Part of Ketala's. And, of course, most of Nathanos is still Nathanos, who was conflicted to begin with. He has shut out all suffering and all love, all care and all yearning, all pleasing and all painful. He has no joy and no sorrow- only bitter logic and pride._

"Yet he finds himself unhappy."

_It is different. There is a difference between unhappy and sad. Nathanos is unhappy- there is absence of anything pleasing to him that does not also prod ruthlessly at the part of him that can still be pleased. He is not sad, but he is frustrated- in fact, he has fallen further and further into apathy and hatred._

"Not for a moment. For awhile there, he showed amazing pettiness and cruelty."

_It was his reaction to regaining the part of himself that could care. Rather then take it willingly, he responded with angry insanity. You have strengthened his mind, however, and that will calm him for long enough to think and feel. Hopefully, he will act favorably._

A moment of silence.

"Why doesn't he kill himself?"

_If he dies now, he has lost. Nathanos is not very good at dealing with losing or submitting._

"That's it? That's the only reason he strives to live?"

She nodded sadly. _The only reason. Nathanos has nothing else to live for.

* * *

_

Woo! Well, that raises some more questions!

First: Who is looking out for Ketala's welfare? Kel'Thuzad or Nathanos? Why did they attack eachother? Who's on her side? Why did Nathanos suddenly attack Kel'Thuzad? Say! maybe you can say what you think if you review And we'll see who thinks what!

Moreover: Why isn't Arthas worried about all this? From the text in the last chapter, he seems to be baiting them.

Secondarily Is Hyjuori right about Nathanos and why he wants to live? Of course she is. She's right about everything. She's Divine! Ah, but the only thing that is all-knowing is The Great Power Mahi Serves, not MahiMahi herself... Think my readers, think. What answers do you have for me?

Sixth and Lastly: When the crap is Nathanos gonna stop being a jerk and tell them that they're walking into a huge trap set up by Varimathras?

Thirdly: How did Ketala keep Nathanos alive for so long in the Undercity for her and Zul'vii to get there? And where the heck is Nathanos's puppy? PUPPY! COME BACK!

To Conclude: GASP! Is That **Shakespea**r I see? Yes, my numbering of these questions came from a quote by that bumbling oaf Dogberry from Much Ado About Nothing!

_Dogberry:_

_"Marry, sir, they have committed false report; moreover,they have spoken untruths; secondarily, they are slanders; sixth  
and lastly, they have belied a lady; thirdly, they have verified unjust things; and to conclude, they are lying knaves."_

And then, with Shakespear's cunning wit, Pedro mocks him in return:

_"First, I ask thee what they have done; thirdly, I ask thee what's their offence; sixth and lastly, why they are committed; and to conclude, what you lay to their charge."_

Notice in both their comments they just rephrase the same thing over and over again, too? Hehe. I love Shakespear.


	30. FifthLegOfTheJournies MindwarpSpies

Author:Who's ready to take a guess as to why this chapter took so long?

Author: -Raises hand-

Author: You there! you in the front.

Author: Because its a filler chapter?

Author: DANG IT! DONT TELL THEM THAT!

Author:Why am I talking to myself? Because Ketala shall be doing it soon! Why? Oh just read.

And the Question of the Day is: What is your reaction to Umpi?

**I love you all! YARG!**__

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**_5th Leg of the Journey: MindWarp Spies_**

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On board the ship

Ketala came to Nathanos's room around midnight. One might infer that this was a strange or unique event, but as Ketala was undead, midnight was a perfectly sociable time to be up and about. Seeing that he was trying unsuccessfully to rest, she knocked gently on the door frame. He whipped his head in her direction, eyeing her from his hammock.

"I have a question. Were you looking for your hound earlier?" His upper lip curled in disdain and she smiled inwardly. There… contempt and disdain… Nathanos was in a good mood. "Your hound is on one of the undead ships. I would have brought it on this one, but I decided it might be best to keep it out of your way until you wanted it."

"And why is it you bother to bring me this news now?"

"It woke up, all excited, to let me know that it had felt you calling it. I was just wondering if you'd liked me to fetch it."

"No. I assure you I have no desire for the beast's company at this exact moment," he said with his normal, bitter disposition.

"Alright. Ah… Nathanos? Please don't kill it…"

"For what reason would I deprive myself of my dog?"

"Well… It did not move to help you when you were attacked." He looked at her sharply and then sat up slowly, his glowing eyes glowering at her.

"And you know this how?"

"I used most of the effort I could muster to keep it from moving. You see, it didn't have much of a chance of surviving from what mental emanations it was giving me." He lifted a brow, sneering.

"And why would you go through so much effort to save my hound?"

"I had it fetch something to magically paralyze you. You were a bit pissed off with me earlier, so I hadn't really much time to mention it- but you were basically time-frozen until Zul'vii and I could get to you."

"How did you know I was under attack?"

"I felt Arthas. I felt his control touch someone I had under my wing."

"You shielded me?"

"Sylvanis and I, though we both did so a bit subconsciously."

"Why was Arthas extending his mental presence all the way to the Undercity?"

"I'm not sure. Perhaps he wanted to communicate with Anub'Arak." Nathanos smiled wryly, turning this information over in his mind. Which would be more amusing- to let them know they were walking into a trap? Or to watch them suffer once they reached it? At one point, he would have immediately told Sylvanis what had happened, and would have delighted in the torture Varimathras would endure. At one point, he would have not hesitated in hold back information in order to pain Ketala.

But now what would he do? He supposed he should wait a bit in order to decide which would be more beneficial and amusing to himself. And then, she spoke as if she read his train of thoughts. Perhaps she _could_ sense what he was thinking to a small degree.

"What was it that you'd wanted to tell Sylvanis anyway?"

"Nothing of any importance," he countered. "As it seems it's been weeks or months since I uncovered that information." She nodded

"Why did you attack Kel'Thuzad?"

"He used a nova to slow me. I could have killed you if he had not."

"I was between you and Kel'Thuzad, and you didn't so much as touch me." He scowled lightly, glowering at her.

"Does the fact that I had just recently been sapped mean nothing to you?"

"Didn't even touch me," she insisted, though she left it at that. "But about your hound- it was rather burnt by whatever attacked you. Zul'vii took it into her head to heal it." Nathanos stiffened a bit.

"Like the half breed also took it into her head to heal me?"

"Yes. And, might I add, it's quite adorable in a, "I would just love to bite your head off and bathe in your guts," fashion." The Blightcaller allowed himself a grin, and he waved a hand dismissively.

"Get out of my sight." She nodded, chuckling softly, and closed the door. Back to normal. It was always good when the world went back to normal. "Ketala?" she paused, the door still open a few inches. "Do not be naïve in matters concerning Kel'Thuzad."

"I shall not," she said readily. "With all of your pessimism drilled into my skull, it is a wonder I am as trusting as I am. We should be reaching the orcish fleets shortly," she said with a bit of good-natured humor, and the door closed.

* * *

Not Far from Northrend. United with Orcish Fleets.

Indeed, they did meet the orcish ships shortly, and the Human and Forsaken flagships sailed past the rest of their ships in order to meet with Thrall's vessel. Behind them, Illidan's and Ketala's ships sailed behind.

Thrall looked battle ready, but he also looked more haggard then the group of rag-tag, demi-allies had ever seen him. There were lines around his piercing blue eyes that indicated lack of sleep, and his black hair had devolved into a thick, unruly mane. Still, he grinned as Zul'vii hopped off of her vessel and tackled Voljin into the mast. When Sylvanis and the Admiral Proudmoore joined the ensemble, he greeted them with the warm but tight attitude of a commander who knows that a battle to the death is near.

"It is good to see the human fleet will be aiding in this endeavor. I hope your naval expertise will aid our chances in this upcoming battle," he said to the Admiral in particular. Then, leaving Daelin to work out his own thoughts with bitter frustration, Thrall turned his attention to Sylvanis.

"Did you have any luck with Ketala?"

"More then luck. The Silver Hand shall frown against any human attacks on the Undercity." Thrall smiled with satisfaction.

"Good."

"That is not all." She turned her head, gesturing to Ketala as she made her way up to the group. Immediately, she looked at Thrall, sizing him up, and he blinked upon seeing her blazing, powerful eyes glowing from beneath her helmet… And he did not flinch. She smiled at this, nodding to herself, and she offered a mailed hand to him.

"It is good to see you again, Warchief." He gave a grin that showed tusk and took her small hand, inwardly satisfied at the strength he felt in her grip.

"And you- though I fear I was not able to become well acquainted with you at our last meeting." She grinned.

"I will do my best to aid in this battle. Not only do I have a personal vendetta against the undead, but the Lady Proudmoore may be the reason we did not all die very horrible and grotesque deaths on that field. Without her teleportation, we might have never turned the tables on the Scourge. I may very well owe her my life, and I am willing to give it back in return for her safety."

"Hopefully, it shall not come to that."

"Nevertheless, I shall do all in my power to aid in her rescue. There is something I should point out about some of the troops I have brought, however." He lifted a brow, waiting for her to continue. "I have convinced some Scarlet Crusade troops to come and help. Due to their… prejudiced outlook on many issues, it is probably best that you know they are here so you can act accordingly. The Warchief's eyes narrowed as he remembered that fateful day when the humans adorned in red the color of blood had attacked their camp, the day after they had defeated the Scourge. He remembered the death and the betrayal…

And Jaina's hatred for the division between humans- for infighting… The same infighting that had caused the death of her father.

"Why would you enlist the help of such fanatics? They attacked us- and killed your ghoul… 'companion' if memory serves."

"Because they do have a reason behind all their fanaticism- they have lost almost everything to the Scourge, and share a deep, undying loathing for the man that did this to them and their families."

"Arthas."

"Exactly. Besides, we need them to stop attacking the Undercity, and if we convince them to help us we might be able to soften their racist opinions- thereby killing two birds with one stone."

"I see. I commend your efforts and wish you luck."

"Thank you- I shall certainly need it. Now- to the matter of the attack?"

"We have a rough battle plan."

"Then we should get started right away. I'm of the opinion we've very little time to lose."

"Arthas has not killed her so far- she still lives. If it were urgent, I would have asked you come immediately here rather then gather your armies. No- for some reason, I do not think murdering Jaina is his intent- therefore, we have time to plan. However, there must be some reason he decided to capture here, so we must act quickly."

"My thoughts as well. Although I and Sylvanis have one concern still…" she turned to look at Sylvanis, and the Banshee Queen nodded.

"We still have no idea who betrayed us at Theramore. Arthas should have never been able to abduct Proudmoore in the first place," Sylvanis muttered darkly.Thrall frowned, his expression growing grimmer as a whole.

"You fear they could be working against us even now?"

"It is possible- though unlikely. More then anything, it was probably a fluke that we were discovered at Theramore. After all, we probably set in with our antitoxin while the Lich King was already observing the city and preparing to make his move." The Warchief nodded again, though he did not seem convinced, and he looked at Ketala.

"What do you think?"

"What choice do we have? We have to do _something_ about this. Even if Arthas isn't going to kill Jaina, there must be _some_ reason she hasn't teleported out of there on her own accord already. We can't just leave her there."

"True. Will you be able to turn the undead in this battle like you did last time?" Ketala blinked, hesitated, and shook her head.

"No, I do not think so. Arthas was unprepared for what I did then. I will not be able to collapse whole lines of undead on each other like that again." He nodded gravely.

"Then we will have to hope our armies are enough."

"One of the greatest weapons we had last time was that the Liches and other undead commanders turned, bringing their minions with them. We will not have that advantage this time- and Arthas is the defender. And, as our military genius could tell you," and with that she looked at Daelin, "the defender always has the advantage."

"What would you suggest we do to gain a surprise advantage?"

"Blightcaller had a suggestion," she said immediately. "He suggested attempting to find a way to let Sylvanis half possess me so that I could fight Ner'zhul should he take the field." Everyone just stared at Ketala for a moment, Thrall and Daelin most of all.

"_Possess you?_" the Admiral hissed in surprise.

"Yes. Blightcaller said that while I possess the perfect fighting attributes for fighting Arthas, I do not have the proper mindset, and my brain would be reduced to putty during the fight. Likewise, he suggested that Sylvanis would not have luck fighting Arthas due to the fact that she is a long-range combatant and he is coated in full plate, surrounded by undead magics I could easily break. _I_ cannot use my powers unless I am in control of my body, but _I _do not have the mindset to defeat him. Therefore, Nathanos suggested finding a way for The Dark Lady to share my body in order that her mind could drive me, but I would still be the master of what tactics to use- much in the way that I steer abominations around."

"And you are… _Alright_ with this?" the Warchief asked, astonished.

"It will not be permanent, but it is the only way Sylvanis or I could meet him on the field and attempt to win. You, Warchief, do not havea great enough vendetta against him for you to be risking your life meeting him in combat, and Blightcaller himself is a little… odd. I am not saying I would enjoy having Sylvanis in my head, and I doubt she would enjoy a moment inside it, but there are few alternatives. The one other choice is to allow Illidan to face him."

Illidan had, to this point, been silent, but he snorted when she said that. "Only you doubt I'd win."

"Yes," she said, looking up at him. "Yes, I doubt you would win, simply because of your past record with fighting Arthas. As you are a commander, you are vital to the army, and thus are not expendable-"

"You are as well Ketala. If you die, you abandon all your precious little pets," Illidan countered, gesturing to the ships of undead. Ketala was silent for a long moment.

"Your greatest weapon, Illidan Stormrage, is demonic tainted magic- something Ner'Zhul has spent most of his existence trying to combat. I, on the other hand, am something Arthas would _not_ desire to kill, and I can wield holy energies. Against an undead, I have the decisive advantage- simply because of the energy I wield. You may be my senior on a rank of power, but you cannot call down the Light and cannot empoweryour blades with the same holy energy."

"Why would he hesitate in killing you?" snapped the Daelin, rudely desiring to be part of the decision making process.

"Because I am weapon he would love to have in his possession. I assure you- I do not share his sentiments, and I will not fall to him, especially if I have someone as volatile as our wonderful banshee queen there shrieking out defiance towards him from within the confines of my head."

"How do we know we can trust you?" the human persisted.

"Because I have everything to lose and nothing to gain," she said softly. "If Arthas takes the field, I will face him, if you will all agree to it- in particular, if Sylvanis will agree to it."

* * *

Ketala's Base Camp

All in all, it took only a few days to set up their attack plan fully. As they never fooled themselves for an instant into thinking Arthas did not know they were coming, they took all the time they needed to plan.

Like most wars- like most earth wars- it seemed a campaign. A quick, hostile invasion… A quick rush and slam, as the bulk of the 'allies' troops bored into the Lich King's defenses...

Setting ground bases… Ketala's forces stood out in the plain open air, immune to cold and wind, the troops always alert and watching...

Fighting against the defending undead… Mindless death… Mindless fighting…...

Nathanos stood upon a snowy hill, gazing up silently up at The IceCrown Mountain. To protect himself from freezing solid upon the spot, he had simply added another cloak over his own. Most of the ghouls had similar contrivances. His hound crouched soundlessly behind him. The wolfish looking monstrosity did not breath- just as its master did not. It was still and silent; on the lookout for any enemies that would threatenits Ranger.

"A slow war like this will not do," Sylvanis muttered grimly, coming up beside him. "We need an icebreaker." Nathanos managed a twisted smile for the unintended pun in 'icebreaker,' and nodded.

"Something to lure him into combat. The question is: what?"

"We could send Ketala into battle." He nodded slowly.

"We could send those of the greatest skill into the enemy's defenses to take out the more powerful liches and deathknights."

"Or to take out Arthas himself." Nathanos merely snorted.

"The Nerubians," he said simply, and he turned, walking off, leaving Sylvanis to wonder what he had meant by that comment. In truth, Nathanos's exclamation had contained nothing to do with his conversation with Sylvanis. It had to do, instead, with Ketala, and so he immediatly headed off to find the angel.

"Swordswoman!" was his greeting, and she answered it by turning immediately to him and waiting for him to reach her. "Tell me- why have so few undead turned in battle?"

"I cannot feel them anymore. I do not know how- but Arthas is blocking me."

"But how? That is the question. I have never heard of either component of the Lich King being particularly skilled in warding off such attacks as you initiate. You said the Liches faded entirely from your reach relatively quickly- correct?"

She nodded.

"What if the Liches _themselves _have found some way to hide from your sight?"

"But what about the ghouls and abominations?"

"The lichesare controlling them directly, and thus they have no minds to reach. If we could take out the living and lich leaders, we could forge our way to IceCrown."

"But what can I do? However they are concealing themselves, I cannot reach them, and the dead will easily detect asentient being attempting to infiltrate their ranks... " He smiled darkly.

"Can you sense the Nerubians?"

"The what?"

"The Nerubians. They are a race of arachnids that possess sentience. Anub'Arak is an undead of their kind." Her eyes widened somewhat.

"Living Crypt Fiends?"

"Yes. Can you sense them?"

"I-…" She paused, her face contorting beneath her helmet, and she sighed softly. "I can… but I can do little with that connection. They are as sentient as any living being, and I cannot touch them mentally."

"If we could get you behind the lines of Scourge, would you be able to convince them to aid us in secret? And would you be able to take out the Scourge leaders despite your latent care for some of them? The nerubian's are immune to the Lich King. Only their mummified dead can be raised by him. Arthas will not be able to easily detect them. If they could help us, we would be able to launch a quick attack on the leaders of the undead."

"I would… But I doubt I would be able to get past the Scourge lines unnoticed."

"You could," he said slowly, "but you would need to add Sylvanis's skill with stealth to your own."

"You want me to combine minds with her now?"

"Yes. She should be able to shield you from Arthas's sight long enough for you to accomplish what we need." Ketala Truae was only silent for a moment.

"Will this end this war sooner?"

"And incur fewer deaths on our part."

"I will do it," she said immediately, and Blightcaller smiled darkly. He did so desire to see what kind of monster his idea would create.

* * *

Ketala's Base Camp (Cont.)

It took longer for the leaders to decide exactly how they would insert Ketala behind enemy lines then it took them to plan the rest of their entire strategy for the war. Some of the reason for this was because the planning occurred with the greatest secret. Most of the reason for this was because no one had any idea how to protect her, and few wanted to lose such a valuable ally and warrior. It was at last reasoned that Ketala would need to bring a small party with her.

Of course, it was Zul'vii who enlisted first. Being that Zul'vii was a rogue, an axe-fighter, and a healer, this made her an ideal choice- and left Illidan, the true leader of their ragtag ensemble of elfin misfits, behind to command their forces. The rest of her party was more difficult. For example: Vol'jin desired to go. As he was a shadow hunter, he was also an ample selection. However, Vol'jin was the leader of the Darkspear tribe, and therefore was not in any way, shape, or form expendable. He argued that if he died it would put the trolls into a heated battle rage. Thrall argued that if the trolls went into a heated battle rage due to mourning, it was likely that island trolls would go extinct by the end of the war. While this debate raged on, the bodyguard of the leaders was discussed at a more open meeting, and the need for healers was stressed. For example: Lodan, the warrior who had once been a death knight, was asked by Ketala to accompany Sylvanis. Due to the fact that he could call forth a death coil and strengthen his undead allies, he was unendingly valuable as a healer for undead. In turn, Sylvanis recommended Nathanos as Ketala's bodyguard. Unfortunatly for Nathanos, Kel'Thuzad spoke before the undead Ranger Lord could open his mouth to disagree.

"I believe Blightcaller will agree that not only does he loathe Ketala but that he is a strategist first and foremost. While his battle prowess is great, he is more useful at the head of an army as opposed to behind one, guarding she who is perfectly capable (Perhaps even more capable) of guarding herself. That, and due to his conduct on the ship voyage here, it can be assumed that he might attempt to attack her as opposed to attacking her enemies."

Well, of course Nathanos had to insist he stay with Ketala after that. For some reason, he did not like Kel'Thuzad. Not that anyone did- they almost glared at him for saying anything. After all, he was not invited to the more secret meetings, and he was barely tolerated when he wandered over to the less secret ones. No one trusted him whatsoever. Logically, this meant that Nathanos would also accompany Ketala through Scourge lines, and because everyone else distrusted Kel'Thuzad, it was generally perceived to be a wise move to send someone that the lich had discredited.

* * *

Joining Minds- Ketala's Base Camp (Cont.)

It was not pleasant. It was not pleasant at all. In fact, it hurt, in a distorted way. It was the same sensation as could be produced from being beat of the head with a mallet, clamped in a head vice, and rudely shaken around like a rag doll. There was no perception of up, down, good, evil, left, right, happy, sad- nothing. And yet there was a perception of everything at once. The senses were overloaded and yet numb. Images whirled across the vision.

That was Ketala and Sylvanis in one. It was an Apothecary Lydon, a particularly sadistic fellow who lived a joyless life unless creating some type of excruciatingly painful concoction,a man who thoroughly enjoyed the process of administeringconcotions to helpless members of the Alliance- or their pets;it was this apothecarywho eventually developed the actual technique for half-possessing Ketala.

Sylvanis was able to practice with several animals found in the icy waters around Northrend. Lydon even offered his own toad for her to splice minds with, but being that that particularamphibian was abused on a day-to-day basis by its owner, the offer was declined. Who wanted to splice minds with a morbidly depressed and terrified toad? Needless to say, Zenn Foulhoof was immediately perturbed by said toad's loving advances (We must remember Zenn as being the satyr who was turned into a toad who is currently stuck with Zul'vii). Therefore, the toad slipped even further into depression, and it would have contemplated suicide had it not been aware that its master would resurrect it again.

Or perhaps the toad didn't actually think about anything. It was only a toad after all.

Ketala had opened her mind freely, something she had never done for any being- even for Kel'Thuzad. She had opened her mind, surrendered her being, and had let the powerful will of the Banshee Queen in.

And it was horrible. She staggered as the possession flared into her, and she screamed in an unearthly banshee wail, tearing at her armor as if trying to rend her flesh- to give herself physical pain in order for her to cope with the pain in her mind. Lachdan, her ghoulish companion, had to forcefully separate her fingers from her body in order to stop her from destroying them. Leonid Bartolomew the Revered, the undead Argent Dawn paladin who had accompanied Ketala into Hearthglen, had to hold on to her torso in order to keep her wild jerks, twitches, and shakes from injuring herself. She writhed in agony, her mind communicating utmost distress to her minions and causing the most mindless of them to howl and scramble around, pawing at their own heads as if to attack the anguish their mistress was in and to drive it away from her.

In the end, much to Nathanos's chagrin, it was Kel'Thuzad who pulled her out of her mad struggle. As her minions and friends attempted to pacify her, the lich drifted up and wrapped his skeletal arms tightly around the struggling girl, leaning his freezing cheek against her temple.

Her struggles ceased all together, and she stared dazedly out at the world around her. Luckily, she could not see Kel'Thuzad due to his position behind her, for Sylvanis's hatred of him might have driven Ketala's body to further convulsions if she had seen who it was that comforted her. Her friends and followers backed up, giving her space as she twitched weakly in Kel'Thuzad's arms and then went still, outright fainting. Thus ended the first day that Ketala and Sylvanis shared a body.

* * *

(Cont.)

'Where am I…?' It's a decent question for anyone to ask upon waking up with no memory of what last had happened to them, and with a strange roof of their head. However, the next was, 'and who…?' which was certainly not normal at all. Ketala lifted her hands, shifted a bit, and then looked down at herself, regarding her armor as if she had never seen it before. Her helmet was off, and a skeletal hand was gently stroking over her hair. 'Kel'Thuzad.' She jerked violently, one hand lifting claw like and latching onto Kel'thuzad's skeletal arm, her body contorting as her two personalities argued over what to do.

"KETALA!" With a snap, she released his arm, her face contorting with pain and her eyes shifting wildly from gray to a confused blue-green color. "Good girl… Good girl…" he murmured, gently cupping her face with his fingertips and stroking her cheek. She shuddered violently, her eyes changing to a neutral, gray-blue color, and she relaxed somewhat. Her lips parted after a moment, as if to speak, but she could not decide on what word to say or how to say it. "It will be easier on the battlefield, as you will be able to delegate Sylvanis to mental protection and assign yourself to physical protection. But for now, I ask that the Banshee Queen allow me a moment to speak with Ketala." After a moment to allow Sylvanis to digest this, he spoke again. "You know yourself that Nathanos is dangerous, and you know someone betrayed Sylvanis. He is depressed, insane, and above all- a sadistic genius. He knows you will be confused and disoriented due to this mind-splice you have undergone, and he knows both of your personalities well enough to attack either- or both."

She nodded numbly.

"Be careful. You know he would derive great pleasure in killing you in your most trusting moment."

Another weak nod. She gazed up into the eyes of her guardian and enemy, and she slowly lifted a hand, gently touching his tusk.The lichgave that smile- that dark bearing of teeth that characterized any amusement or affection he felt. He gently stroked over her cheek, and then had her lay down again. There was warmth beside her… Thrash… Thrash was there… Through her whirls of chaos and indecision, she knew Thrash was there, and she turned and embraced the lynx. Her memories clashed and merged with Sylvanis's, the two of them becoming less like they originally were and more like each other... But she was so tired...

Ketala/Sylvanisdrifted back into blissful unconsciousness, and when she woke Kel'Thuzad was not there. Standing weakly, she staggered out the tent door and gazed down at her warriors, her ravaged mind slowly processing everything it saw.

"By the Light," she murmured softly. Her voice was strange. It was unchanged save in its magical overtone, which had adopted some of Sylvanis's high elfin beauty. "Sylvanis, Ketala… Are we no different then Arthas and Ner'zhul?" Her body contorted weakly, and she shuddered. "We must stay different. We must stay ourselves. And yet we must work in perfect harmony. We are so different. How can we work together if we are not united in mind? We would be but another Scourge tyrant. So what must we be? We must _share_… We must share this body... But who's will do we act on? We are too different." She shivered, her face twisting with pain. "It is my emotions and my free will that fuels me. Let me deal in spoken word. Yes, then I shall deal with subtle interpretation. I shall decide right from wrong. But I shall be the voice of reason. I shall be the sword. I the shield. I your conscious. I your logic." She shuddered violently, closing her eyes and gripping the frame of her makeshift home, her whole body quaking.

Slowly, her spasms ceased, and her eyes opened, glowing a shade of turquoise. Carefully, she stepped forward, placing one foot in front of the other. Her scimitars left their sheathes, and she lifted one slowly and hesitantly. "I need a bow. I shall go fetch mine later. But now…" She whirled, her blades cutting the air and her eyes turning to bright, powerful yellow. She fought the air, practicing and determined to fight to the full of her potential. Her lips moved, speaking words of power, and a net of life draining energy shot out from her, sapping from a few trees and then releasing so as not to harm them. "Poison. I need poison. What else?" She paused, holding her scimitars at ready, and then she smiled, lifting a hand. Golden energy danced in her palm, and she closed her eyes. She gave a light, subtle quake, but that was all. After a moment, she extinguished the flame and nodded to herself. "I'll kill him," she said softly, and her eyes turned to the Frozen Throne, the IceCrown Glacier, her destination.

"Good to see you've succeeded in calming yourself down," said a wry voice from behind her, and she turned her head to see Nathanos there.

"What is it you want, Blightcaller?" asked the woman who was Ketala and Sylvanis in one.

"We have found a gap in Scourge lines. I was sent to see if you were of reasonable mind to head into enemy territory now."

"I am- though I need my bow and poisons." He lifted a brow and smirked darkly.

"Yes Light Lady," he said. Ketala was caught something between a smirk and a scowl at the name derived from a paladin crossed with "Dark Lady".

"I will fetch them. Where shall I meet you and… Zul'vii?"

"In the command area."

"Shall I bring Thrasher?"

"Yes." She nodded, turning and walking off, and ignored Nathanos as she left. He frowned as she did so, growling to himself something unintelligible, and then he, too, left.

* * *

Boat at Ketala's Base Camp

Zul'vii finished gathering all the materials she would need for this journey, and she slung her pack over her shoulder, checking to make sure she had all her daggers and axes properly hidden about her person. Then she strode quickly from her room on Illidan's ship. They had sailed to Ketala's holdings on Northrend to engage in all this plotting, and, thus, the ship was not far away from the command tent. She got around a quarter mile from the boat when the desperate, pained cry of "Zul'vii!' made her halt. She shook her head, swearing mildly to herself, and then turned to look as Illidan dashed up to her, leaving a light trail of flame behind him. He reached her, not even breathing hard, and gazed down at her blindly.

"Hello Illidan."

"You are leaving?" he asked abruptly.

"I am."

"Why did you not notify anyone?"

"I was trying to leave unnoticed." He tensed, his hands tightening on the handles of his warblades.

"Why?" he allowed himself to ask after a moment.

"You would follow me. Though you would fail to convince me to tolerate you coming, you would commit yourself to following me." He bristled, opening his mouth as if to say something, but she continued on. "You are needed here, Illidan." He fell silent, regarding her, and he continued to stare after her as she turned and kept walking again. He reached out towards her as she went, and then lowered his head, his violet hair blowing lightly in the wind.

"Illidan?"

"Yes…?" he asked weakly.

"I left quickly because it would hurt to say goodbye."

"… Goodbye…"

"… I love you, Illidan." His head jerked up and he stared blindly after her, watching her glowing color and white life walk away and finally leave his vision.

"Come back…" he murmured weakly. "Don't die…"

* * *

Off in the forest near Ketala's and Sylvanis's base camps.

Lydon opened his windows and scowled out of them, growling to himself. The snow was untouched, the trees were pristine, and the sky was a cerulean blue. What a miserable, _miserable_ day... He snarled, shutting his windows and latching them shut. Out of the entire camp, Lydon was the only one who had a proper house. It was only one room in size, with a blazing fireplace and endless alchemy supplies scattered around it. This was because the entire abode had been teleported from Tarren mill. Yes, that's right. Lydon teleportedhis entire house. And who wouldn't? Would you like sensless warriors running around touching your stuff and trying to bring down your tent with all those delicate instruments in it? DeathStalkers were such barbarians, and humans and orcs weren't any better.

In fact, Lydon had poisoned a few this morning, and he was delighted to see them all vomiting up blood over the snow around noon. It was always a pleasure to cause pain, and he had been fortunate enough to recieve the order, "do not kill humans", as opposed to "they are our allies- treat them as such."

He smiled happily to himself over the memory. In gladdened spirits, he started mixing and exhanging chemicals. When this process was over, he looked around and thens smiled happily down at his assistant, Umpi. Umpi, as we have said earlier, was a toad, and Lydon did not fool himself. He knew Umpi was a toad, and he preferred that she staid that way. Toads couldn't complain, but they were very skilled at displaying pain, terror, and distress. He would have chosen a deer, but they were too large and hard to manage. Bunny rabbits had heart attacks from terror far too often. Therefore, he had Umpi instead.

He lifted up a vile, holding it over her as she sat and gazed around with her big brown eyes, and tilted it slightly. A drop landed upon Umpi. She croaked and started as it bored into her skin like acid, sunk a few centimeters in, and then violently exploded, blowing off Umpi's back legs. She yelped, dragging around her legless, bleeding pelvic area on the ground as she tried to get away. He smiled with joy and set the vial down. With a flick of his hand, his sent some healing energy into Umpi, healing her legs, and she bounded around for a bit, stricken with terror, before forgetting that the matter ever occured and settling down again. Lydon was strange in many ways. One of these ways was that Lydon wasan arcanepriest, a necromancer, and a transfigurator (He changed things from one thing to another, AKA: Polymorph and Transmutation). Content that he had the proper mixture, Lydon unbolted his windows, opened one an inch, and hurled the vial out. There was a slopping, burning sound, and then an explosion. He opened the window all the way to view the horribly disfigured trees, the burnt, choppy snow, and the greenish vapor hiding the sky. Much better.

He left the windows open that time.

Personally, he was a bit upset about currently being off the project of creating a poison to wipe out all undead and human kind, but poisons were always useful. No doubt Sylvanis would ask after him for his newest concoctions. Serge Hoinette, the Expert Alchemist that shared this building with Lydon, complained loudly about the smell. Lydon looked bewildered at the Alchemist and then burst out laughing. Serge frowned darkly, but Lydon just went back to his tasks, absently reinforcing the heat spells on Umpi. He didn't want her to freeze, now did he? And by transfering all the heat from the fire to an area around her little body, he made her she was nice and toasty. But not too toasty. When he was first concocting this spell, he'd accidently caused her to catch fire. Not that it hadn't been enjoyable to watch a flaming toad run around his lab.

The days went on, much as they always had, with Sylvanis collecting poisons as expected. One day, he went out with Umpi and found a wonderfully butchered carcass of an orc. The demonic taint leaking from it was exquisit, and Lydon had brought some back for testing. Another day he found a particular type of winter plant that could be used to brew a base toxin that neutralized the acids of a creature's stomach and thereforemade them incapble of digesting anything. After happily watching Umpi's stomach shrivel up as she urinated water and then watching her waste away for days on end,it was beyond splendidto find that dehydrated frogblood blessed withdemonic taintmade a splendid ingredient to a certain elixir he'd been creating.

Who'd have thought? He smiled, turning to Umpi and picking the emanciated, large-bellied toad up. Large bellied? Oh! It got even better! While she'd been trying to eat solid foods and while she had had no acids to digest with, her food had ripped open her stomach and intestines and was now filling up the area between her internal organs and flesh! How grand! Imagine if he had been able to do that to a Human! But now, this would never do. If Umpi went another day, she would die, and then who would be his assistant? Last time Umpi had been incapacitated for a few days, he had been forced to use Serge the Alchemist as his assistant, and Serge had struggled and complained a lot. He smiled at Umpi, petting her gently and letting healing energy sort out her innards and set her back to normal. She outright fainted and he frowned, scowling to himself. Well, it looked like Umpi was going to be incapacitated for a day anyway. Oh well, it was rather easy to transfigure Serge into a toad and forcefeed him poisons. He bent over, setting Umpi down, and then stood up-

Pain. Peircing, sucking, ripping pain. Lydon blinked in amazement as he felt a dagger bore into his spinal cord. Luckily, he had been already using healing energy, and he quickly reverted it to himself, holding his spine together. He turned his head, bewildered, and looked at Serge. The Alchemist was grinning evilly, and before Lydon knew it, a dagger was flying straight at his face. He tilted his head to the side, and recieved a knife slice through his throat. Hmm, this would not do, not do at all. He recieved another stab in the back, and his vision clouded a bit as he peiced together magic in his mind.

Well, that was ironic. He was being poisoned with his own conoction. In that case... Pain seared through him, collapsing some of his innards and distorting his mind as he jerked wildly in agony. Another stab. In that case... There, a mentally clear spot- a short moment of europha! His clawed hand shot forward, grabbing Serge's face, and his palm exploded with holy light. When Serge no longer possessed a head, Lydon allowed himself to collapse, contorting and twitching on the ground.

He woke up some time later, grimacing and then chuckling at his own pain. Well, that was lovely. He hadn't expected that at all. His eyes flickered open, and he blinked, looking around. Not his home. He sat up, tilting his head to the side, and he looked around.

The Deathknight- or, the exdeathknight. Lodan, the Warrior, the man who had been appointed as a member of Sylvanis's bodyguard. He must have healed Lydon, for the Apothecary was currently in Sylvanis's command tent. Or Zul'vii, the healing angel, had healed him.

Oh well. Lydon stood, looked about, and decided not to bother the Dark Lady. She was probably possessing Ketala by now, and it would not do to irritate her unconcious body. He stretched a bit, made sure his spine was in working order, and then headed off, returning back to his home.

Hmm... This was peculiar. His home was trashed- burnt away. And not just any fire had scortched the cottage. Judging by how Serge's corpse was burnt away into dust, it was holy flame. Perhaps some Scarlet Crusade members had come across the home and investigated. It was set a bit away from the main camp at any rate. After finding it a location of undead experimentation, they would have undoubtably burnt it. Which means that Lydon's wards would have gone off and caused a nice firework display when the Scarlet Crusade members had entered the perimeter of Lydon's 'land'. Which means that Lodan or Varimathras had seen the display and sent someone to drive off the Scarlet Crusade, and _that_ person had realized Lydon was alive and carried him safetly out. Well, now that all that was settled, he went in and looked aorund for anything to salvage.

Not much. The Crusade had been particularly keen on smashing every last vial. He was just about to leave when he realized something. Umpi. He turned around, looked amoung all the burnt objects, and frowned. Some magic emerged from his fingertips- magic designed to make Umpi's location known to him, whether by sound or by sight. She was close enough- in fact, she was very close, so she gave off a vibrant, blue glow.

Or, shall we say, the peices of Umpi gave off a vibrant, blue glow. When Lydon had fallen, Umpi had remained unconcious on the ground. Without him to renew the heat spell, she had frozen to death. Then some scarlet Crusade member had trampled upon her and scattered her into millions of fragments, scattered with the glass. Lastly, when the house had burnt she had melted and dissolved into the wood floor of the cottage, lost amoung the glass and debre. The Apothecary went very still as he noticed all her tiny fragments giving off a hazy blue glow. After a long moment, he sank to his knees, touching the mildy bloody floor. Dry. The sun overhead had dried the remains, leaving all that remained of Umpi absorbed into wood or refrozen crystaline fragments. Delicatly, he picked through the glass fragments with his pointed fingertips until he found a fragment of Umpi- part of her eye with frozen eye-jelly spilling out from it. One part. Large-sized.He continued, carefully searching again, and plucked a few peices of debre, carefully searching through the tiny chipped fragments and knocking away at least a hundred he knew were not Umpi. Four more parts. Mini-sized.

* * *

Umpi! Nooooo!

Oh dear. The death of a toad has never seemed so tragic O.o...

I know there are people out there who haven't voted, so here are the current questions:  
**Who is your favorite Charecter?  
Who is your least favorite Charecter?**

Well, now we have some questions about our story.

1) Nathanos or Kel'Thuzad?

2) How the heck is Ketala/Sylvanis going to save the world-... No, really... Nathanos or Kel'Thuzad?

3) (Every other question that a filler chapter enduces)?


	31. Into the Hands of the Enemy

BWAHAHAHA! Been awhile hasn't it? Its okay,I have Capital One. See, I had lots of good ideas, but i didn't have much of a filler for the area between those ideas. It took me a long time to shove out something that was remotly smooth, so forgive me!

Hey **Yeth!** you're my favorite person. Along with all the people who review well. You review every chapter, but don't just say "Good chappie!", you actually comment on the content :P

I guess the Japaenese dude didn't like Kel'thuzad or Nathanos O.o...

Nice to meet you **Reviewer Person,** unless i already know you by another name, in which case, nice to see you! Hehe. Kel'thuzad is also one of my most favorite charecters, and he will be done justice even if you are disappointed with this chapter. I'm not done with him yet! Thanks about Ketala. Yes, I knoe 30 very long chapters is very intemidating. That's what I thought when i saw "Blood Leprecaun" (except I tried to read that one and dang it, it was just too depressing! What's the matter with some happy non-confusing things happening once in awhile? Gah, i could never been a DND DM. The Guys would be so confused as to why the WHOLE world wasn't out to doom them- only parts of it) I'm sure many people skip chapters or at least skip around. It would be nice if you went back to observe some of the better parts though O.o. Just a suggestion. I notice a lot of people who aren't good at keeping track of charecters tend to skip around alot in order to figure out who everyone is.

Well, anyway! This chapter features religion people ARENT arguing about for once. For example, Ketala's faith is what saves her arse, as you are about to read (or if you're a slow reader, you can reread this comment to yourself as you near the last lines of this tale hehe) Just like it has so many wonderful times before. Mahi might be most divine of the angels, but Ketala's sure as heck the most religious O.o. She's a dang paladin after all. I hope you like this. It's 13 pages, rather short, but I wanted it to be that way and frankly, do you want to read endless pages of mumbo jumbo concerning how they get to icecrown? You'll just be like "Come onnnn! When are they getting there already!" Member what i said at the beggining of the fic? I only care about important parts of the story hehe.

* * *

Into the Hands of the Enemy

* * *

Orc Camp

Thrall paced his wolf back and forward, vexing the tired animal greatly. He was tired as well, but more then that, he was worried. Far ahead of his army's front lay The IceCrown Glacier, spiraling high into the cold, frosty air. And that was where his ally was. What assured him that when he arrived there, Jaina would not be beyond help? What confidence did he have that Arthas would not kill her as soon as he began to lose? The orc's wolf growled and he paused, blinking, and sighed, patting its fur. He needed to meditate. He needed to relax his mind, and to cut out the sounds of warfare and death… He dismounted, his boots crunching through the snow, and sighed, closing his eyes…

Push out the noise… push out thought… push out heartbeat… push out death screams… Silence… Silence…

"Warchief…" Thrall's head jerked up immediately at that tremulous, old, soft voice. He turned to look at the blind, aged far-seer, perched on a pure, white wolf, and gazing down at Thrall as if he could see him.

"Drek'Thar…"

"You should not be surprised to see me in a place where advice is needed the most."

"… Did you arrive on wyvern, elder?" he asked, coming up to the white wolf and aiding the old far-seer in dismounting. The old shaman nodded solemnly, accepting the aid.

"But I shall be brief. This cold pierces to the bone." Immediately, Thrall was prepared to offer his cape, but the elder shook his head. "No. You will need it more than I." He turned his head, 'looking' in the direction of IceCrown. "… You fear for the sorceress. You are right to do so. The Spirits warn you that more then just her life is in peril." Thrall paled, swallowing tightly.

"But what can I do?" Drek'Thar looked at him, allowing a small smile.

"Have I taught you to listen to the spirits in vain, young Warchief?" The pallor turned to a light blush- almost of shame.

"I have been trying to listen to the spirits… but I cannot understand their message."

"Is it not strange how when the message concerns ourselves, we do not often see what it means?" He paused, breathing in the cool air for a moment. "I will tell you now that you must follow the two angels into the glacier."

"What…? Why?"

"Never be but an hour behind them, and do not let them know you follow them till they have arrived at their destination."

"But Elder, I have no skill in stealth…"

"If you do not do this, you will win nothing on this field of battle, and your losses will be heavier then the burden any count of corpses could amount to,' he continued, and the Warchief fell silent.

"Never be but an hour behind? We better start moving."

* * *

Undead Camp (Same Time)

Ketala gently cared for her bow, examining her arrows before strapping a quiver of plain ammunition quiver across her back. She drew an arrow, carefully notching it, and at last she released, hitting a fallen tree stump. Hmm… Not quite the spot she had aimed for. Her fingers were not trained in the bow yet. She repeated this procedure, carefully training her fingers and her aim. After a moment, however, she stopped, and eyed her fingers uncertainly. No, no, this would not do. She was no longer alive, and her fingers… well, would they form calluses? She couldn't be sure, and she did not want to damage them. She did not want to wear plate or mail gauntlets, but perhaps light leather gloves would afford her the protection she needed. She donned these gloves, notched an arrow, and aimed quickly.

"Are you ready?" asked Zul'vii, coming up behind her. Ketala said nothing for a brief moment, before releasing the arrow and sending it true into the heart of her makeshift target. She lowered her bow, turning and looking at Zul'vii. "I am ready. Is Nathanos?"

"Yes." Keltala/Sylvanis nodded, and then blinked, shifting her gaze as a cloaked undead shuffled up to them, holding a bowl filled with some glittering object. While carefully steadying the bowl with one hand, he reached over and tugged the sleeve of Zul'vii's tunic with the other. The half troll blinked, and turned, gazing down at the undead.

"You are the one they call 'Curiato'…?" he asked weakly.

"I am Zul'vii, yes," she said, looking down at him curiously. He hesitated, silent a moment, and then lifted up the bowl so she could see inside it. Zul'vii blinked and then a look of surprise spread over her features. Tiny fragments of a frozen toad, painfully pieced back together one by one and held there by magic, gazed up at her from the bowl, and she shifted her gaze to the undead.

"Apothecary Lydon?" Ketala asked, coming up next to him. "What is it you need?"

"My pet is beyond my power to heal, Lady Sylvanis, Lady Trua." Zul'vii lifted a brow, and then reached over to the hood of the undead, flicking it back. Glowing gold eyes looked up at her with a bizarre, lost expression. After a moment of contemplation, the half-troll plucked the bowl from the undead and laid her fingers very lightly upon the toad's back. The ice ran off, beads of moisture forming, and there was a crunching sound as the frozen, dead fibers of the toad reunited. Zul'vii's brow furrowed with concentration as her magic sought through its body. Ketala, out of pity, called fire from one of her blades and held the implement near the toad, helping Zul'vii defrost it. The cloaked apothecary looked on anxiously as they restored the dead frog, and he watched the completed creature slumped lifelessly onto its stomach.

"There," said Zul'vii at last, breathing hard with sweat beaded on her cheek and forehead. "I cannot resurrect it though." Gleefully, Lydon took the bowl, reaching in and wrapping his fingers around the lifeless amphibian. He plucked it out and dropped the bowl, letting the ceramic vessel shatter against the ground. The Light, mixed with arcane energy, flooded into his fingertips, and Ketala lifted a brow. Sylvanis knew how apathetic Lydon was- how mad. Ketala knew that hatred and apathy were forces the Light forsook. Therefore, both women were left wondering how it was that Lydon could remain a holy priest. Nevertheless, they said nothing, and watched as he vainly tried to pull the life back into his pet.

Vainly. He could not do it. Umpi had been dead too long, and her little, insignificant soul had no desire to remain behind. She had gone to the great toad heaven in the sky, to reap a bountiful existence of the tasty flies and the painless relaxation that she deserved. Having lived with a maniac all her life had entitled her to such rewards.

At that point, Lydon did something any mad man in his undead position would do. His claw-like fingers tightened on her tiny frame, digging into her skin, and a few bones snapped under his grip. He threw the dead animal down and stomped on it, reducing it to flattened toad mush and swore at it, hurling dark energies at it. Then, with that unpredictable shift of mood, he dropped to his knees and picked up its broken body, and he burst out crying. The apothecary truly was a pitifully creature; moaning and crying and cradling the tiny, distorted, dead amphibian. It was very loud crying at that- the sort of screaming, frustrated bawling one might receive from an infant conducting a temper tantrum. In reality, that was pretty much what he was.

Well, what would any angel have done in such a situation? Zul'vii and Ketala were both immediately sorrowful for the poor, unhappy wretch of an apothecary. Sylvanis was a bit amused and revolted, but those emotions canceled one another out. Therefore, Zul'vii knelt and fought Lydon for possession of the toad. While Ketala restrained him, Zul'vii healed the animal again. Due to the fact that whenever Ketala or Sylvanis had ever attempted to touch Nathanos's mind, Nathanos had had a very volatile reaction, Ketala had no choice but to simply stroke the apothecary's back and smother his spells until he calmed down. She did not want a violent reaction from Lydon to make the situation even more confusing.

When the undead did at last relax, Ketala and Zul'vii gently reminded Lydon that he was a necromancer, at which point Lydon was utterly delighted. He freed an arm, snatched the dead toad from Zul'vii, and proceeded to reanimate it.

It's hard to say whether Umpi was happy to see him or not. After all, she had been whisked from the happily-ever-after paradise in the sky to become an assistant of a homicidal, sadistic maniac once more. Lydon, however, was ecstatic, and he smothered the toad, petting it with unending glee and murmuring soft things in Gutterspeak to it. At least Umpi had one perk going for her- he couldn't kill her any more. If he did so, he would not be able to reanimate her again.

Zul'vii and Ketala just looked at each other quizzically and shook their heads. Some things were not meant to be questioned.

* * *

IceCrown

As it turned out, it was not all that difficult to sneak past the Scourge lines, something that Nathanos had great suspicion over. Still, what could they do but take their chance? And as it turned out, it was not necessary to find the Nerubians. While the party of three was carefully making its way through one of the caves that ran below the enemy forces, some of the Scourge army left, and it moved to attack some of the Scarlet Crusade and to drive them backwards. Needless to say, it proved very easy for Zul'vii, Ketala, and Nathanos to quickly assassinate the intelligent Scourge that remained.

Unfortunately, they could not know that the Lich King perceived these actions- that he watched as the three cloaked hunters slaughtered his troops, and he watched Ketala's tell-tale scimitars flash through his men's skin. They could not know that he saw all this and then smiled to himself.

Mental orders from Ketala sent her undead army off to intercept the Scourge one. More orders sent the other races' armies heading into the very heart of the vulnerable Scourge defenses. And with that as the three musketeers, none of which possessed muskets or tiers, forged their way towards IceCrown.

The ice breaker had been done much more neatly than anyone could have expected…

But no one believed Nathanos when he warned them about this.

No one listened to him, save for Ketala, but she had been told time and time again that the Ranger Lord was out for her life…

It happened very quickly. There was a battle- a great battle, in which sides fought and clashed and sometimes betrayed one another. Undead switched lines to join with Ketala's troops, and Scarlet Crusade turned on their undead partners and tore them apart with holy energies. Orc roared, charging into battle. Satyrs flew gracefully through the enemy lines, their curved blades cutting through undead gore. Trolls threw axes or spears… Humans cast magic or beat off their opponents with hammers and blades. Elves ate magic, cast magic, breathed magic. Undead rent. The truth about battles is that a battle is much more grandiose after it is over and people have had time to glorify it. When battles actually take place, they are nothing but screams and gore. There is no powerful battle music spurring it on. Every sword blow is important and vital, and single instances of fighting are not quartered out in order that a splendid action scene may be made of it. Everyone did what they had to do to kill and to survive, and everyone who didn't do it well died.

But the battle was not the important focus of this story- no, the focus was the few, desperate adventurers that scrambled up Ice crown, abandoning their mounts due to the fact that they were of little use in such a vertical and ragged landscape. The focus was also on the orc that saw that the way to IceCrown was cleared, delegated command of the battle to his generals- a maneuver he had gone over in detail for days, and then charged off, dismounting and scrambling up the icy landscape after them.

The focus was on this party as they reached the IceCrown Glacier and Ketala stepped slowly into the crystal chamber, her swords glowing with white hot flame.

_Hello, Sylvanis._

But it was not Arthas's voice that greeted them.

_Imagine seeing you here… milady…_

It was Varimathras's… And in that moment of shock and surprise, the Lich King bored into Ketala's mind. The poor undead screamed, her eyes widening, and she dropped to her knees. Again, it happened quickly. Varimathras stepped out of the shadows. Before Sylvanis's rage could overpower Arthas's attack, he kicked the body that she and Ketala shared, snarling. He slashed at Ketala/Sylvanis with his long nails, he kicked at her, he swore her and condemned her, because he understood Sylvanis's mind. He knew that accusing her of being a monster, accusing her for all that she had done to him, would keep her mind in turmoil long enough for Ner'zhul to take control. It happened so, so quickly. Illidan charged in, whipping his blade into Varimathras's arm. Nathanos helped him fight the demon off of Ketala, forcing him back and back… But then Arthas's mind forced its way into Nathanos's… And Frostmourne glowed, causing Illidan to scream and crumble to the ground, clutching his chest in agony as energy- no, soul energy- flowed from him to the greedy rune blade.

Zul'vii cried out, rushing forward, but then Arthas was already there, pressing the flat of Frostmourne's blade against Illidan's chest and causing him to scream in pure, unadulterated agony. She would run forward sooner, and she might have been at Illidan's side to help him from the beginning, but she had been so stunned to see him there, especially since he should not have come in the first place. The half troll froze, just staring, eyes wide in horror.

The most divine of the three angels, the MahiMahi, was there quite suddenly. She could have helped, too, except that moments after she arrived she was petrified by pure terror. The Lich King had even been ready for Mahi and Keever. The most divine of the angels, MahiMahi, was reduced to a powerless, terrified child as she watched some twisted, steel and magic prison crash down, surrounding her precious companion and sinking its bottom level, blades pressing into and against the plate that covered his body, a few finding skin and drawing dead blood.

"Do not bother, angel," the Lich King's sadistic voice called out in the chaos of things. "You see my servants gathered around the cage?"

Indeed, Mahi did. They were Void walkers- enslaved demons that nearly invisible to her eyes- but they were there.

"They will not hesitate to kill him if you so much as move," he continued. "Varimathras tells me your kind sacrifice themselves for the lives of their pets. Is that true?" Mahi blinked, her terror softening as she gazed down at her beloved companion, trapped and wounded. But Keever, who had simply looked bewildered at first, now adopted a look of the pure horror that Mahi had borne moments earlier.

_NO!_ he gasped. _No, Mahi! I could not live without you! I could not go back to the way I was! If you give your life for mine, I will kill **myself!**_

Ketala did try to rise then, among the chaos . She watched Nathanos fall, screaming and clawing at his head, and she tried to strike at the Lich King…

He parried her weak blow with ease, and then struck her again with the flat of his blade to knock her down once more…

But then Arthas lifted his head, tilting it lightly to the side as he beheld one antagonist he had _not_ prepared for. No matter. He had a means of dealing with this one, too.

Of course, we know that the being the Lich King spoke of was none other then the Warchief, giving a battle roar and charging forward, war hammer at ready. The Lich King did not bother to try and parry the blow. He merely called his puppet, and the puppet came, interceding itself between him and the orc, and blowing the Thrall backwards with a massive gout of Ice Magic.

Of course, we know that the being the Lich King called to him was none other then the sorceress, silent and still as she stood calmly between Arthas and Thrall, magic at ready. Thrall grunted at the blow of ice energy, staggering backwards before hefting his war hammer again…

And then he paused, seeing exactly what it was that he faced.

"Miss Proudmoore?"

It was, indeed, Miss Proudmoore. She was adorned in armor made of blue-white dragon scales, and looked ready to fight… Yet her eyes were blank, and there was no malice in her features. "Jaina Proudmoore!"

No response.

After a moment of disbelief, he snarled, hands tightened to a white-knuckled grip on his war hammer. "What have you done to her?" he growled slowly, turning his gaze to Arthas, and looking at the Lich King with hatred in his eyes.

"I have improved her. Can you not tell?" he replied simply in his haughty, unholy voice, and he lifted a hand, gently stroking through her golden hair. "All human frailty and weakness has been purged from her. She obeys my mind as any other Scourge would. Now, without human impediments, she truly is worthwhile." He chuckled, feeling the worry that was developing in the back of the orc's mind. "Whether or not you came here to rescue this female, orc, I assure you she will be able to easily hold her own against you. Magic runs very strong in her veins."

"It seems her magic was not enough to kill you." Arthas just smiled wryly.

"Perhaps. Tell me, have you ever noticed the color of her eyes? They show the taint of great power in her veins, just as the red shows the taint of great power in the veins of most orcs- the taint of Mannoroth's chaotic blood."

"And what do her eyes show the taint of?"

"That is a secret for another time. But for now her power is mine to harness," he answered silkily, and then his voice turned ethereal, almost whimsical, and he lowered his head over Jaina's murmuring softy, "Isn't that right, Jaina…?" A curious thing happened. Jaina twitched, moving backward ever so slightly, as if to be closer to the Lich King. But then he lifted his head, releasing her hair, and the spell was broken. And that was it. He had checked every single opponent that had come to him. All along, it had been a trap, and Jaina had simply been the bait. One by one, they had all fallen into it. Ketala. Nathanos. Illidan. Keever. The only one who had been unforeseen had been Thrall, and yet he had been easy to counter as well.

And everyone there had the uncertain feeling in the pit of their stomach that they had played right into the hands of a monster that was far out of their league. Indeed, they had underestimated him on all counts.

The Lich King then turned his attention from Thrall and Jaina, instead looking at the kneeling, struggling Ketala. A smile touched his lips- a dark, twisted smile.

"Ah… Ketala…" he said, using his twisted, powerful, overbearing voice as opposed to in the ethereal hiss he used with Jaina. "Look to your left. Do you see the summoners there?" Indeed, she did, and as he dominated her mind, s he could not hide this vision from him. "They are calling something for you… A gift that I hope you will enjoy… " His gaze intensified, his mad smile gaining an extra twist. "here it comes now…" And with that, the tell-tale runes of a teleportation spell spread over the ground, rippling with power. At their core, blue light spread and then faded, allowing a certain lich to glide into the room. Immediately, Ketala's eyes widened, and she stared at the undead as he floated up to her. "Varimathras was privy to the secret meetings. He was the one who suggested to Sylvanis that Nathanos be in your guard, and Kel'Thuzad countered the proposal to infuriate the ranger into going along with it. In your naivety, did you truly believe that Kel'Thuzad was out of my reach? That he was not compelled by my will simply because he was in your presence?" He paused, listening to Ketala's mind, and then continued. "Because Nathanos can be easily controlled. He proved that when he almost accepted becoming Scourge. That, and his was the only voice you could not trust due to Kel'Thuzad's whisperings in your ears," the lich king said softly, and then turned, gazing at his other prisoners. The lich that had been summoned- no other then Kel'Thuzad himself- glided directly up to his ward and stooped. The Half-Elemental shuddered, staring at him with hurt and wounded eyes as he put his skeletal fingers under her arms and pulled her to her feet.

"_Ketala…"_ he murmured, lifting a hand to her cheek and stroking it. A scream from behind answered the lich. Nathanos somehow gained his feet, despite the overwhelming psychic force oppressing him, and he charged the lich from behind. The paladin girl's eyes flit to him, as he clutched his axes, his face a mask of rage. And then the summoners caught him, dragging him down and forcing their mental prowess into his mind.

"KETALA!" he screamed. Her name sounded different on his lips- more real and filled with more desperation and worry. "KETALA! LOOK AWAY! NAÏVE FOOL- HE'S USING YOUR LOVE AGAINST YOU!" She twitched, willing herself to step toward the Ranger Lord, but Kel'Thuzad glided between the two of them, continuing his gentle stroke over Ketala's cheek, and letting his icy aura permeate her body. "Ketala…" Warchief Thrall's eyes never left Jaina's, but he heard Nathanos's shrieks clearly. He heard as the summoners dragged him down and pinned him, beginning to force their necromantic magics into him.

Nathanos fought hard, screaming the angel's name…

And she did not hear him once… She did not hear the thousands of undead crying mentally for her to come back to them. She ignored the mental cries of her own Thrasher. Thrall gazed at Jaina, and he saw the same blank, almost hopeful look in her eyes that Nathanos saw in Ketala's.

'He is using your love against you,' Nathanos had said… And quite suddenly, Thrall knew exactly what Arthas had done to Jaina. The Lich King was now surveying his other four captives. Mahi stood stalk still, not daring to breathe else it be the factor that terminated the life of her precious companion. Zul'vii, too, held still, gazing in horror at Illidan as the Demonhunter contorted, breathing hard on the ground. Gazing at Jaina, and seeing the strange, apathetic hope in her eyes, Thrall knew what Arthas had done. Somehow, he had used Jaina's affection for him as a means of boring through her defenses. He had used her love as a means for dominating her mind and spirit, and now she was no more then a wraith that sought some distant love it could never again possess. She was like a mindless, voiceless banshee, poisoned by Arthas's aura of frost until all her senses and all her emotions were numb…

And that was what Kel'Thuzad was doing to Ketala. Thrall lifted a hand, pooling his shamanistic gift into twisting threads of energy. While both Arthas and his obedient lich were aware of this charging of energy, neither moved. Jaina had been instructed to defend her "masters," and would therefore interrupt any damage Thrall attempted to do unto either lich or Lich King. To the profound astonishment of all, Thrall did not aim for Arthas, nor was he even contemplating using this trick of magic to avail some means of defeating the Lich King. Instead, Thrall hit Zul'vii and Keever, and then summoned two spirit wolves on top of Jaina. This bizarre attack had the desire effect. It broke the spell that kept everyone frozen in place, terrified of causing harm to one another. Zul'vii yelped as she was thrown into a wall, and Illidan screamed, throwing off the horrible, spiritual wrenching that assaulted him, crawling desperately towards the half-troll. Mahi… Mahi went mad. While she did not achieve some monumental and dramatic feat against the evil of the world, she managed to rip apart the Void walkers that kept Keever imprisoned, and she was now fighting desperately to free her poor, twitching, electrocuted companion. Jaina was just squished by two giant dogs.

Quickly Calculating which strange pair was the most dangerous, Arthas whirled on Illidan, hefting his blade and walking slowly toward the Night Elf. Unfortunately, while was right in assuming that Mahi would not rest until she had freed Keever, he was not right in assuming that Thrall would be so easily taken care of. Said Warchief had apparently forgotten the existence of the Lich King. This was promising for him simply because Jaina could detect no malice against Arthas in his manner, and she had not been originally instructed to protect herself. Therefore, she did nothing in the means of halting Thrall. As Arthas attempted to mentally correct that error, Thrall rushed forward and knelt, shoving both of the sorceress's hands under one of his armored knees and effectively pinning them. There- he had a few moments before she'd be able to concoct a spell. With that, he put his hands under her torso and picked her off the ground, wrapping an arm around her and holding the frail human tightly against him.

"Miss Proudmoore," he whispered urgently, shaking her. "Miss Proudmoore, please, look at me!" She fought, struggling as Arthas instructed her to do so, and her power built up as she attempted to gather the energy necessary for a teleport. The poor orc growled, praying and wrapping both his arms tightly around her, restraining her. _By my ancestors- I appeal to every last spirit- every cursed soul- every life destroyed by this… this beast!- Save her mind!_

"Miss Jaina!"

_That smell… Oiled leather… Sweat…Blood…_

_Warmth…_

The world cam back very slowly, piece by piece. _Steel… Hair… Ice… Green… Black… White…_

"Jaina, look at me!"

A lifted, horrible, crystalline blade…

_Thrall?_

One of her hands shot up, freeing itself from Thrall's grasp. Her wide, confused eyes gazed up at the Lich King's blade as she gave force to a prominent, brilliant, magical shield around them. The runeblade hit it and the shield trembled and sputtered violently. Still, the construct completed its purpose, staggering the Lich king back for a moment. -Just a long enough moment for Thrall to stand, keeping his arms on either side of the poor sorceress and clutching the Doomhammer in both, powerful fists. Arthas was slow. Thrall had to hope that he was excruciatingly slow; else the orc would be unable to fight him off and to protect the Lady Jaina Proudmoore at the same time.

Jaina herself clung to Thrall's black armor, looking up at him like a bewildered child. She was so small and light… If he had to, he could throw her onto one shoulder and carry her… But he was worried that doing so might break whatever fragile tie that had brought her mind back.

Kel'Thuzad did not break his icy gaze on Ketala. If he could overcome her will, she would be more then enough to handle one, burdened orc. Nathanos, overwhelmed with pain, was still shrieking. However, now his words were unintelligible. Perhaps Mahi could have done something, but she was still ruthlessly assuring that her electrocuted companion was safe from harm, and she fought to free him with all her might. Keever gazed dazedly up at her, watching her fight tooth and nail, pressing with endless vigor against the walls of his lethal prison and feeling them slowly give.

_KEEVER!_ Her mind called, and her eyes changed briefly from determined and furious to meek terrified. He smiled up at her weakly, and his distorted face lifted with his admiration for her.

"I am… alright…"

_Ketala… Nathanos…_ Mahi's companion blinked, looking foggily past her at Ketala and the struggling, screaming Ranger Lord. The angel, Ketala Truae, was mentally absent, and he did not have the strength and concentration to help her… Illidan and Zul'vii had their own problems… But Nathanos… Nathanos was as talented a combatant as Ketala herself… If Keever could give the undead ranger the strength to fight out all the mental attacks pressing on him, then Nathanos might be able to do something… Sighing with pain, Keever channeled his strengthening power forward, pushing it into the ranger's mind, boring it into his will, and sending small streams of energy to Thrall and Jaina…

At the moment, the Warchief was blocking Frostmourn with Doomhammer, he and was still disabled by the small human that clung to him. If this kept up, he would not be able to protect Jaina any longer…

So all their hopes rested on Ketala's shoulders. Poor, naïve, loving Ketala, who gazed up at her parent with such blind hope… And Nathanos knew this. He tore through the summoners, using his axes and clawed fingertips to rend through their frail, armorless bodies. He reached Ketala, ignoring the icy frost magic building up in Kel'Thuzad's hands…

If the Ranger Lord had been 'deformed' before, he was a monstrosity now. Elongated, sharp face. Massive, carnivorous jaws. Sunken skin- scars to the bone. His clawed, skeletal fingers seized her arm and- intelligent creature that he was- he whined and pressed his cheek forcefully against her side.

A ghoul. That was what Nathanos Blightcaller was. And Ketala recognized with ghouls above all other creatures- even above liches. Her hand moved, seeking his arm weakly… And yet a bolt of frost interrupted her search, striking Nathanos and blowing him forcefully into a wall.

To this, Ketala at last reacted. Her left scimitar whirled out and scored across Kel'Thuzad's skeletal arm, burning into it with holy flame. As this action was preformed, the second scimitar flew gracefully from its sheathe.

"_KETALA!"_ the lich commanded sternly. The half-elemental paused, her glowing blade poised asecond from ripping into his skull.

"… You deceived me…" she murmured softly, looking up at him with a torn and betrayed expression. Fortunately, she was spared further agony by snapping her head to the side and gazing straight at an amused, chuckling Varimathras.

"_You._" She snarled, her eyes blazing red. At last, Sylvanis's mind ripped itself out of the numb depression that had seized it, rejoining and protecting Ketala's frail conscious. The Task Handler and the Banshee Queen were one, and they sprang toward the Dreadlord with the intent to kill. For once, Varimathras did not cower away. He met her dead on and fought her, confident that he had the advantage in melee combat. Unfortunately for him, he did not. He had never seen Ketala fight when enraged, and he had not thought that the two angry persona would have complimented each other so perfectly. Ketala moved with the grace and sinew of any elf, yet she fought with the deadly skill that had been trained into her by her undead masters. He was a skilled combatant and a tactical genius, but she eventually shoved into his defense, cleaving off two of his powerful claws and stepping into his personal space. He cast a quick _Sleep_ spell on her and smirked as she swooned. Quickly, he caught both her arms under his one good hand, seized her by the collar with his disabled one, and sank his fangs into her neck, siphoning her undead life force. Too strong to fall under his spell for long, she cleared her head and struggled, making his task harder while she analyzed the possibilities.

_Varimathras,_ came Sylvanis's voice after a brief moment. Holy flame radiated along Ketala's body, liming her shin armor. This done, she promptly kneed him in the groin

He outright squealed. Yes- squealed. There was no grunt, no maniac laughter at a 'pathetic attempt to harm him'. Varimathras was the only Nathreziem to ever betray and kill his brothers out of sheer spinelessness. He lacked discipline. It was actually a rather good thing for him to be captured by Sylvanis because, frankly, he didn't make a very good Dreadlord. Despite the fact that he was arguably one of the most powerful and intelligent of his species, he didn't have that "Almighty Badass" gene that made Arthas so haughty. So he squealed and jumped back, tearing a hunk of her flesh out.

_I told you to start wearing armored pants that _completely_ covered you, didn't I?_ she continued, advancing slowly. Varimathras backed up slightly and she paused, pushing her blazing scimitars into the ground and drawing her bow from her back. He blinked. His eyes widened. He took off. Varimathras ran away like a terrified chicken. He sprinted to the side, dodging a whistling dark arrow. Sylvanis/Ketala did not smile, too lost in the Task Master, but she trained her bow on Varimathras again, murmuring words to bless the dark and poisoned arrow. The blessing came. She fired away, and the bolt flared with both violet darkness and piercing light, sailing true into the back of one of the Dreadlord's thighs. Satisfied that Varimathras would be busy dealing with her poison for a few minutes, she turned her bow on Kel'Thuzad, the clashes of the Doomhammer and Frostmourne echoing in the background.

The lich merely gazed at her, silent and perceptive, watching Ketala and Sylvanis argue and debate silently over what to do. His eyes met hers and, this time, instead of being mesmerized, she thrust her mind at him. Whilst Sylvanis warred with Arthas, Ketala pressed mentally upon Kel'Thuzad, pummeling her enveloping mind down onto him. He bared his teeth in a smile and laughed darkly.

"You think your mind is more powerful than mine?" he asked with amusement. "That your will can match the Lich King's?" She did not answer for a moment, and then she lowered her bow, her eyes burning a soft aqua.

"No," she answered. "I think you are a lonely old archmage who has never had anything but power to hold onto, and who has convinced himself that all other yearnings will pass- even now that something worth delighting in has presented itself." He tilted his head to the side as she strapped her bow back to her back. "I know you will not kill me" she said simply, and she tore both her scimitars from the ground, dashing off towards the Lich King.

* * *

In the Middle of Varimathras Getting his Arse Kicked

Jaina's hands tightened on Thrall's armor as she felt Ner'zhul press down against the raised Doomhammer, causing Thrall to shudder with strain. Arthas used one hand. Thrall used two. Therefore, the Lich King's free hand moved forward with quick, malicious precision, and he seized the orc by the throat, squeezing so hard that his glove-armor cut into the orc's tough hide. Thrall struggled, snarling and fighting against the Human, but his struggles achieved nothing. Gasping hard, shuddering and fighting against the lack of oxygen, Thrall slowly, unwillingly, lowered the Doomhammer. The Spirit Wolves had already been destroyed, and the bursts of lighting Thrall released were not enough to cause the Undead to release.

"Jaina-" he need not have spoken. Jaina was far ahead of him, and beneath their feet spread the runes of a teleport. For the first time, the Lich King showed any sign of lack of confidence. He paused, released Thrall's throat, and reached forward to touch the little Human's hair.

"_Jaina…"_ he said, his voice a ghostly whisper once more. She paused, tensing, and the runes dimmed.

"JAINA PROUDMOORE!" her eyes shifted up to Thrall again. "Don't listen! Don't listen to his words! He's using your guilt and affection against you!"

"_Jaina… Don't go…"_

' "**_Jaina?"_ _Arthas asked in a husky voice._**

"_**I'm sorry Arthas… I can't watch you do this."'**_

' "_**Don't blame yourself, child. You had nothing to do with this… slaughter."'**_

' " _**We are more than just allies, aren't we?"**_

"_**Friends?"**_

"_**Friends."'**_

' " _**THRALL!"'**_

"Thrall…" Jaina whispered unhappily, shuddering as the cold, familiar hand on her shoulder pulled her slowly away from the orc.

"Jaina Proudmoore- Stay with me! The Human you knew is dead to this world!"

"I have no one else… I'm so hurt… So tired…"

"You have myself, Sorceress! Did not you, yourself, call me 'friend'?" The hand suddenly latched on hard, perceiving that it had at last lost control of the Lady Proudmoore. The small Sorceress shuddered, clinging desperately to the orc. In turn, he made a brave sacrifice. He thrust up against Arthas with every ounce of adrenaline he had left, and was sure he heard some muscles tear. With that, he dropped to his knees, releasing the hammer and grabbing Jaina, pulling her back to him. The runes whirled and the light flared, and the two were safely out of the way before the next sword-blow fell.

And that was when Ketala reached him, holy swords blazing, her eyes glowing green. He countered both her scimitars , one by deflecting it with his blade and the other by deflecting its edge on his gauntlet. Quickly, after blocking the falls of the blades, he grabbed one of her arms.

"I created you," he said simply, resuming his normal, powerful, unholy voice. "I created both of you. Do you think you can defy me? Do you truly believe you stand a chance to defeat me?"

_You did not sire me. You did not raise me. You did not command me. I am not yours,_ Ketala's mind answered defiantly. _He who killed and revived me released me! I am my own!_

"Yet you choose Sylvanis, one who was once my pawn, to champion your mind?"

_I trust Nathanos more than you think. And I trusted his judgment on this, _she answered, hacking at him with her Scimitar.

"You are alone now. You fail to save the two things you desired most to help- Ranger and Mage."

_Nathanos…?_

"Is conscious and fighting with Kel'Thuzad," he answered cruelly, Arthas's personality coming out in a malicious grin behind his helmet.

_At least someone will mourn them. You will die with celebrations and dancing held over your grave-and your blade only mourns ice._ A few moments of struggling in silence, swords clashing.

"Was that a pun?"

_I do believe it was._

"Your forces on the ground are pulling back. Your minions were suddenly distressed and refused to fight. Many were slaughtered where they stood – some by the Scarlet Crusade."

_I am not a member of the Crusade, Lich King. I am of the silver Hand._

"You cling to dying ways. The Silver Hand died with Uther." Ketala smiled with wry amusement.

_So you'd think, wouldn't you? No, Arthas, you gave the Silver Hand its immortality with Uther's death. A martyr lives forever. I have been to his tomb. No undead can near it- not even liches. I have heard his spirit in my mind- have been taught by his unbiased lessons. Uther may be dead, and the Paladins may be broken asunder by various ideas, but his teachings will live on eternity in me, and in any who visit that sacred place!_

"Then I shall be the one to go and desecrate it."

_You have made him stronger than you in his death. If you ever set foot near Uther's Tomb, you will encounter far more than a helpless corpse! _Now, at last, she drove him backwards with flicks of her blade _You told him when he died that you intended on living forever, Arthas. But for what? Why will life be so precious to you ten billion years from now, should you win? A dead planet; A dead world. What next? The death of every other world? The death of the Burning Legion? And then- oh, what then? To sit and reign over perfect peace- over nothing, forever. You have no goal that will bring anything but more lust and less ways to achieve it. But I know what you seek. _She shoved him away again, causing him to step backwards. _Freedom! Vengance! As you once refused to enslave you people- the orcs- to the demons, Ner'zhul, so now you fight against the slavery they have forced onto you!_

A brief… brief pause… A brief, tiny crack in a flawless exterior. _That is why you took the humans to be your prey! That is why you turned them into undead, and did not go after the orcs! You sparred them subconsciously because you were once the great Shaman strong enough not to condemn your people! Those ties have not left you yet!_ His blade descended on her- faster than normal- pounding away at her as she fought like a she-devil. She slit thick, burnt scars over his armor, and then whirled to fight Varimathras back. Dodging a blow. Fighting one- then the other.

Then…Oh then… Cold… Pure cold. Void. Nothing. Ice. Death. Ketala stared, watching as Frostmourne came down and slit through a weak point in her armor. Pure, unadulterated cold bit through into her arm, and her numb fingers barely held onto her scimitar. She parried his next blow, stepping backwards, barely capable of holding her own with one arm so pained. Aware she needed to find some advantage, she furrowed her brow and then jumped at the undead leader, holy energy bursting from her fingertips and searing into his armor, shoving him backwards. Holy flame came crashing down. A _smite_ hurled him back a few steps…

_KETALA! KETALA, this way!_ That was Zul'vii. Ketala spun around, looking towards Zul'vii, and she beheld a portal opening across the room. Mahi had almost freed Keever, and Illidan was working feverishly to stabilize the portal, clutching his chest in agony. But Ketala could not yet run. Her eyes flit to Nathanos and Kel'Thuzad, both who currently had broken bones and dark, sadistic eyes. And, sad as it was, Ketala could not leave them.

_Nathanos, Nathanos hear me!_ She said, turning and heading quickly towards them, hoping her blasts stalled Arthas for long enough the Ranger Lord's mind came to attention, hazily listening to her mental call. _Nathanos, see Zul'vii? See Zul'vii?_ He did, and he threw Kel'Thuzad into a wall in order to listen better. _Go to Zul'vii!_ And indeed, Nathanos did try to do this. He took a step in the troll's direction, and then stopped, his eyes clouding up. Ketala's eyes widened, and her consciousness wrapped tightly around his, shoving out the Lich King's dark promises. Still, she was too late. Ice flew forward from Kel'Thuzad's hands, and ensnared Nathanos's legs in thick ice, causing the ghoul to struggle and snarl. He struggled for a moment in vain, and then Ketala's scimitars sunk deep into the ice, blazing with red hot fire as she yelled out the word "Pyro". The ghoul hissed vehemently, yanking one leg free, and then struggling as Ketala sought to carve out the other.

Kel'Thuzad did nothing. He had merely regained an upright position and was staring at them… Runeblade. The Half Elemental spun from her work on the ice, trying to counter the silvery runeblade…

But she was using her injured arm. She was not strong enough. The cold edge sunk into the side of her waist, and she was assaulted by the deepest, most horrible cold. Void. Death. Nothing. Oh Light save her, she was falling, sliding to her knees, one of her scimitars falling free of her hand. The blade lifted again, plunging into her shoulder, and the only thoughts that crossed her mind were _Light Help Me…_ Her eyes went wide with horror and shock. She could have screamed. She could have crooned out a horrible, desperate banshee wail… but that would have availed her nothing. Instead, Ketala merely looked up at Arthas with a sort of bewildered expression, and she clutched weakly against the blade in her shoulder- the runeblade that siphoned out life and spirit.

Arthas simply gazed down at her with a look of satisfaction, and he gently, gently twisted the blade, causing spasms of agony to shoot through her.

"You are mine. I created you both," he said. Nathanos had hurled himself at the Lich King, but the Death Knight merely grabbed him by the throat, hoisting the ghoul aloof, and his hand constricted nightly on the undead's throat to the point that it induced pops and crackles.

_Light Save Me…_ she pleaded, tears rolling down her face as she felt an empty, unwelcome sense of loss filling her. _Light Bless Me… _Her gaze turned to Kel'Thuzad, and she beheld the lich standing silently not that far away, his head tilted to the side, eyes blazing dark blue, just gazing down at her. _Light Keep Me… In Life or Death, I am yours, In Gladness or Sorrow, In Triumph or Failure, Light Keep Me… Do not let this monster have me…_ Frostmourne hissed violently, and Ketala screamed then, a massive, horrible, heart-wrench banshee scream, and she jerked violently as the void within her was filled once more.

* * *

Okay, I did my best. Please give me **suggestions!** **Battles **are by far my **weakest point!**

I need to know what was good and what was not so good. The next chapter shouldn't take so long, but who knows?

Okay, here's another poll! What was your favorite part of this story? What was your least favorite? BWAHAHAHAH. I know what half of you are going to answer! WEEE!

Funniest part? That's a hard one

A:

It took around one minute for the succubus's head to be bashed to a bloody pulp against a wall. The warlock, whom was its owner, quickly followed. Apparently, with no sexual implications attached, Varimathras belonged to Sylvanis. And only Sylvanis. She stood there after she had properly disposed of both perpetrators' heads, watching him silently as he reinstated control over his body, raging hormones fading. Then, slowly, he began putting on armor from the waist up- the only armor the succubus had managed to remove. Sylvanis came up, when she was sure he was himself again, and patted him gently on the right horn.

"Good boy."

B:

Qkiloden was bright red, covering his mouth and trying to keep from laughing, his pupil-less eyes bright with mirth. Mathic blinked, a disoriented heap on the ground. Ketala had practically run circles around him, her skill and strength so surpassed his own. He had his armor cut off, a 'K' hacked into his buckler, his pant legs slit open from midthigh down, his shirt in tatters, his sword around 16 yards away, and not a single blade-scratch on his body.

"The hell…?" he muttered, still confused. Ketala laughed, grabbing him by the shoulder and pulling him up to his feet.

"You have been beaten by a woman." She patted him on the head. "Be proud." Qkiloden lost his battle, uncovered his mouth, threw back his head, and burst out laughing.


	32. Simple Sentances

Hey everyone! Glad to see me? I'm sure glad to see you. I had to go polka two nights ago for my grandfather's birthday, and well... You can guess how that went. I was the only child in a room of 55+ (Exceptions being my parents andmy siblings)with really bad music... Yeah, i see you get the point. FEAR MY ACCORDIAN POWER! By the way, Veinershnitzle is actually quite good. Tastes kinda like squid, which is weird, because its Calf. Which nearly made my poor cow-loving sibling sad. I think said sibling now hates me.

Anyhoo! THANK YOU REVIEWEES! Hehe, And thank you Doom Reaper. Its nice to know this has yielded 400+ pages of literature. That's longer than my longest as yet unpublished novel! Aren't you people lucky. You got more attention then my beloved Muse.

Muse: "... I feel neglected... And I'm a personified abstraction WITHOUT a name! Come on, at least other fanfiction writers give their muses names and pretend they're real! You don't even HAVE a Muse! You're inspired by everything you read! Crazy dolt! What am i then? A personification of Void! I hate you! Why can't you even pay enough attention to me for me to exist in the first place!"

O.o... Poor Muse. I'm sure it wishes it existed, but I sadly do not have the time for muses. Figuring out boarding fees for renting room in my head would be just too tedious.

Well, its getting harder and harder to write this fanfic. Why? Well, cause in a little bit I"m going to have to think up a new plot line, and I'm dreading that moment. Don't worry, we'll get another climax before the story continues on to another line. Arthas, for all the idiot that he is, deserves more than one chapter! And the last battle was a bit anticlimatic, don't you think? Of course! There was a massive build up, and they just ran in and just wiped. Flat out wiped, hehehe. We need some more heroic action! So you know this can't be the end!

* * *

**_Simple Sentances  
_**(Dang it, was hoping Grammer Class wouldn't follow me...)

* * *

Somewhere in Somemountains

Thrall lifted his head, surprised to find himself in, of all places, a cave. Of course, he was not disappointed at finding himself in such a location. It was a much better place then beneath a descending rune blade that siphoned souls could ever be. But he was surprised nonetheless. Jaina had not known where their troops on IceCrown were, but she had been in no way weak. Therefore, he would have expected her to perform a long-distance teleport back to Theramore. But now he was in a cave. The more he thought about it, however, the more he realized that he was no longer in the freezing northern lands. This made it all the stranger. It meant Jaina had conducted a long-range teleport all the way to another continent, and had, for whatever reason, chosen to teleport into this cave.

He did not have any more time to worry about location, however. The small human still clung tightly to him, and he looked down at her, smiling as she lifted her head to peer hesitantly up at him. The sorceress smiled lightly, weakly, and then clutched at him tighter and burrowed herself against his armor. The Warchief blinked and sighed, settling himself and patting her back.

"Are you alright, Miss Proudmoore?"

"… I'm okay…" she said very quietly.

"Was afraid I'd lost Azeroth's most talented sorceress for a moment there." When she tensed, he blinked, and then put a great, rough, green hand to her chin, and he drew her chin up so she was facing him. "And a friend," he said reassuringly, trying to calm the confused and bewitched human down. He succeeded, watching her relax and smile weakly.

"What… happened…?"

"The Lich King kidnapped you and made it through the portal with you to Northrend. Somehow he… controlled you with your emotions… I am not sure how he did so…" She shivered, lowering her eyes and pulling back from him to hug herself… only to find she was not in her comfortable robes, but in the scales of Sapphiroth. Her eyes widened, and she immediately began to pull on the armor, ruthlessly trying to get it off. Thrall blinked at her and then turned a blend of Christmas colors- red, green, and white- upon realizing she had nothing on under said armor. This fact was made known to him when she freed one of her bare shoulders.

"Jaina!" he said, alarmed, and grabbed her arms in order to restrain her.

"It's his- its cold! Get it off- please get it off!" she wailed, still weary and frightened.

"Jaina, you have no other clothes!"

"Please!" she cried in pure anguish, and he had no choice but to let her go and turn away, blushing heavily. After a moment, he pulled off his cape and offered it to her. Once she had ripped off all the armor and had calmed reasonably down, she slowly took the offered material and wrapped it around herself. It still took Thrall a good five minutes to push back embarrassment enough to ask if she was decent. She was, and he turned, blushing anew despite the fact that his cape covered her small frame like a full dress. She looked up at him silently a moment, and then looked around.

"Do you know where we are?" inquired Thrall after a moment.

"… I do… not… wait…" she stood unsteadily, tottering over to a cliff and looking around. "… I remember this place…" He blinked, standing and coming up to her.

"…. Stonetalon… Why are we here?"

"I do not know," she murmured hopelessly, still suffering from Arthas's influence.

"… This is where we met Medivh…"

"And each other… and then Medivh made us work together…" she murmured. He blinked and looked at her, and then quickly looked away, still embarrassed.

"Will you be able to teleport us out?"

"… I'm tired…" she said softly, and he nodded.

"Can you make the jump back to Northrend?"

"Thunderbluff or Orgrimmar will be easier… They are closer." He frowned at the idea ofteleporting with a frightened, bewildered, half-naked human female into a city of orcs, but what choice did he gave? If they arrived in Thunderbluff, they'd have to fly to Theramore or Orgrimmar anyway to get in touch with their people."

"Orgrimmar then," he said, looking at her slowly. "But you need to rest. I'm sure I can find something suitable to eat. Why don't you pick a spot to lie down?" Her eyes widened and she looked up at him like a terrified child.

"Don't leave…" He eyed her a moment and then grinned.

"I shall not let you out of my sight, sorceress."

She was satisfied, and she did not complain as he picked her up and found her a suitable nook to curl up in. The thick flesh of the underground mushrooms served as their firewood that night, and they ate chunks of burnt spider.

"Thrall?" the human inquired after a moment.

"Yes?"

"You're very bad at cooking." He blinked and laughed, shaking his head, and offered no excuse for his lack of skills. When she curled up to sleep, he remained at the campfire to watch over her, dutiful to the last. As she tried to get comfortable, she lifted her head and peered hazily at him. "Where is the Doomhammer?" she inquired after a moment.

He stiffened and fell silent, his face falling a bit.

"I dropped it."

"_Dropped_ it?" He nodded, not saying that he had done so for her sake. But then, he didn't have to. She figured it out on her own, even in the state her mind was in.

"You dropped it to grab me."

"There are more important things then old hammers."

"Am I more important to you?" he blinked, staring at her and shifting awkwardly. This was like talking to a drunk elf. She was so far out of her element, and her mind was so thoroughly shot from all she had recently been through. However, upon seeing such a hopeful look on her face, he couldn't just say nothing, or deny the question. So he nodded, hoping she wouldn't remember days from then. "Thank you for coming for me." He nodded again, happy to hear that her voice was getting sleepy. "Why did you come?"

"To IceCrown? Because we are allies, and it would have been dishonorable to abandon a friend and ally in such a manner."

"But why to the throne…? If you died…"

"Drek'Thar-" he fell silent blinked, and then chuckled. She blinked, opening her eyes and looking at him. "Drek'Thar advised me to do so. He told me if I did not go, we would fail in saving you. He also refused my cape when I offered it to him. He said I would soon need it more then him." Jaina blinked, bleary eyed, not quite understanding, and he smiled. "I'll explain to you in the morning when you feel better. Rest now." She bobbed her head up and down in a docile manner and curled up in her nook again, wrapping her cape-turned blanket around herself even tighter.

"Thrall?" she asked after awhile, her voice on the verge of slumber.

"Yes Miss Proudmoore?"

"I love you…"

* * *

Somewhere. Dang it, what's with all these 'Somes'?

Ketala shivered, slowly opening her eyes. A warm body was over her, fur brushing her face. Thrasher. Blinding light. She shut her eyes and cried out, whimpering when a rough, feline tongue licked over her face. A hand touched her shoulder… A skeletal hand and cold…

"Sleep, Ketala…" She did not, _could not_, comprehend whose voice it was that spoke to her… but she obeyed….

When Ketala again drifted into consciousness, she was on a ship, wrapped tightly in a hammock and laced up inside it to keep her from falling out. For the second time in recent history, Ketala found herself wondering, "Where am I?" As her world slowly grew detailed again, she undid the lacing and weakly, shakily, stepped out of bed. Thousands of minds tentatively approached hers, before seizing onto her happily, gently. Ketala Truae sighed weakly, almost fainting again, but their strength kept her on her feet.

_Lachdan?_ she asked.

_I am here. I am okay. Lodan is here as well, though he has a hurt leg._

_What has happened…? How long have I been unconscious…?_

_Many days. We have barricaded ourselves in Northrend, and are awaiting a decision on what to do next._

_Everyone… Zul'vii… Mahi… how did I get here…?_

_Everyone is alright. Zul'vii will only say that Nathanos and Kel'Thuzad saved you._

_Both… where are they now…?_

_You need more rest._

_WHERE ARE THEY?_

A skeletal hand on her arm, a warm hand, stirred Ketala out of her mental conversation, and she blinked, staring into one, compassionate gold eye, and blinking. "Keever…" Mahi's champion nodded, guiding her gently back to bed. She staggered, shivering, but she made it there safely. "Kel'Thuzad… Nathanos…"

"When you wake up," he promised. "We're taking care of you."

"But…"

"When you wake up."

* * *

(Cont.)

When she woke up, when the promised hour occurred, it was because a hand, soft and delicate, was touching her hair. Her whirling eyes opened to slits, and she blinked, feeling the gentle stroking through her black tresses, cool but not freezing. She turned her eyes and head a bit, looking up at the shadowed visage near her. The hand paused, its owner tensing.

Nathanos. She could not see the face, but only Nathanos would become so rigid upon realizing she was awake. At the moment, he was gazing down at her silently, his fingers tense and tight on her hair Ketala looked up at him silently a moment, before slowly, cautiously, moving her hand towards him, like a ranger might approach a cornered animal. He tensed further, but let her fingers come to rest gently on top of his. There was cool, human skin beneath her fingers. Nathanos had been healed again, most likely by Zul'vii. After a moment, Ketala spoke, gazing up at his shadowed visage.

"That's why you attacked Kel'Thuzad on the boat… Because he was trying to mesmerize me… like he did in Icecrown. And somehow, you could tell that's what he was trying to do. The cool fingers clenched under her grip. "You foresee almost everything, don't you? You tried to warn us that we were walking into a trap at IceCrown."

"It was not so terribly difficult to figure out," he hissed back, and his voice was the proof that he was, indeed, Nathanos Blightcaller.

"No… but we ignored it in our blind optimism." She smiled weakly and he felt silent. "… What happened after I lost consciousness…?"

"I dragged you through the portal. Leaving you to become Arthas's pet would not have been advisable."

"What distracted Arthas?"

"… Kel'Thuzad attacked him."

"… Did he… did Kel'Thuzad…. make it back through the portal…?"

"No. It closed behind us." She fell silent, her eyes closing, and she sighed. After a long moment, she looked back up at him.

"Thank you. No matter what reason you name, you still saved me. Like you tried to save me on the ship from Kel'Thuzad, by attacking him…Like you were trying to help me…"

"I assure you there were no such sentiments on my part." She nodded weakly.

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

"I wish it were otherwise."

"A foolish hope.'

"But then, that raises a question."

"Does it now?"

"Yes: Why were you stroking my hair?" She felt everything inside him contort in frustration and anger. "And why did you get so angry when I said that, instead of simply scoffing at my absurdity?"

"You say that as if you know me."

"I was stuck with you for a good few years, now wasn't I? If I have not yet earned the right to make a judgment on your character, no one has." He sneered in the dark, and tore his hand back. "Nathanos, stay-" Angry footsteps clipped purposefully toward the door. "Why is it you go out of your way to do these things? Why is it you hate me so _much_?" No answer. Ketala winced and then struggled weakly out of bed, staggering toward the door. When she reached it, she gripped the frame and sighed weakly. At last, she summoned the strength and courage to follow the direction of his foot-steps, and ascended to the deck of the ship.

Of course, Nathanos heard her weak and shuffling stride as she reached the deck, but he did not move. He was standing near the stairs that led to the upper deck. There was a railing that bordered the ship, and it served to keep the ship's passengers from falling off. A few feet from the stairs that led to the upper deck, the railing suddenly shot up several feet. This was a convenience designed to keep anyone who was climbing the stairs from blowing off to see. At this precise location, Nathanos leaned against the rail, one arm draped over the top of it. On his arm, he rested his chin, and he was staring out at the moon-lit sea. He held still the long moments it took her to decide to approach him, and he held still as she contemplated what to do from there. Slowly, she reached forward; ever so lightly touching the arm he was not leaning on. He did not budge, and she gazed at him silently a moment before at last coming up against him and laying her chin on his shoulder, her cheek against his unkempt, shoulder-length hair.

The two, strange, young undead remained that way, gazing off to sea, and all was silent.

* * *

Stonetalon and Orgrimmar (Cont. from earlier)

It was well that Jaina did not remember much of what had happened the day before when she woke up the next morning, and it was certainly appeasing that she did not remember the last comment that slipped from her lips before slumber had claimed her. After all, being in a position of such helplessness was something worth being embarrassed about in its own right, but for she, Princess of Kul'Tiras, Sorceress Ruler of Theramore, the Lady Jaina Proudmoore, to have told an orc- not just any orc, but the Warchief of the Horde- that she loved him was cause enough to be embarrassed and apologetic for the rest of her life.

Therefore, we say it was well that she did not remember. Thrall himself found the whole thing quite ludicrous and embarrassing, and was quite glad to find that she did not remember. She was well enough to initiate a teleport that day, and when the pair arrived in Orgrimmar, he was quick to send his guards and advisors off. Seeing that she was about to faint again, he scooped her off her feet, making sure to keep her properly and decently covered, and carried her into one of the ambassador/guest rooms of the fortress.

He brought her some vegetable and raptor soup, helped prop her up so she could eat it, and then set her down in the bed, pulling the hides of the bed over her and blowing out the candles in the room. When he was satisfied she was content and asleep, he sent for some clothes to be tailored as if to fit a Troll child, and immediately sent word to Northrend that both he and Jaina Proudmoore were alright, and that he placed his generals under Vol'jin's guidance. He would have left immediately for the frozen continent, if it had not been for the small sorceress currently inhabiting one of his guest rooms.

For some reason, it seemed wrong to abandon her side so quickly. Therefore, he resigned himself to waiting for her to recover, and went to take a nice hot bath. Thrall was one of the few orcs who could appreciate the luxury of a nice hot bath. To most others, it was simply a necessity to bathe, a basic, cumbersome form of hygiene, similar to depositing bodily waste products outside of the city as opposed to dumping them in the streets. You did it because you had to, because it would keep fleas from developing the plague, and because you did not want to kill everyone in the surrounding area when you lifted your arms (Ogres are one of the only sentient exceptions to this rule. Being as they cannot lift their arms all that high due to their portly girth, they tend only to lift their arms when desirous of hitting an enemy with a club. In this case, an ogre would not mind if his opponent dropped dead of excruciatingly smelly armpit air pollution, and, for this reason, ogres do not bathe. If you desire proof of this, visit the Swamp of Sorrows sometimes. The only thing stinkier than the marshes are the Murlocs that swarm around Theramore's docks, and the ogre camp situated in region's northern parts).

* * *

A Ship in Northrend (Cont. from earlier)

"Were you worried for me…?"

Nathanos did not answer Ketala's question for a long time. Whatever force had ruthlessly assailed him with madness and mood swings had quite suddenly abandoned him, leaving him again the cold, calculating creature Ketala first met at Marris Stead…

Or, perhaps he was a little warmer then at their first meeting.

"Out of practicality? Yes. It would not have been wise to allow Arthas to regain you as his pawn. It is likely the tables would have turned on us."

"When he stabbed me, did you expect it would kill me?"

"Of course."

"If he'd killed me, I would no longer be able to be his pawn." He fell silent, not having anticipated this angle. "And if he had stolen my soul, my body would not have been useful to him."

"I was a ghoul at that point, Task Handler. My mind was not entirely stable."

"Did you want to keep me from dying?"

"That is generally what a bodyguard does."

"But were you concerned?"

"It is a guard's job to be concerned."

"…" she sighed softly, her eyes whirling dull, soft pink as she gazed off at the night, dressed in her paladin tunic and slacks…

"How did I live?"

"Pure holy light thrust Frostmourne out of your chest, and tore your soul back from the RuneBlade."

"How?"

"I would imagine that it was due to your faith," he said snidely.

"Arthas struck Uther down."

"Arthas was not attempting to siphon Uther's soul to feed Frostmourne… And for that matter, Uther was not an angel."

"Yes… always back to our divine gifts…"

"There is another possible reason."

"And that is?"

"That your faith is stronger than Uther's was, while he lived. That your faith in what you believe in as right is greater then the faith of any other living being. The other two angels do not even begin to hug as closely to their divine gifts as you do. Mahi is the best at _using_ hers, and Curiato's gift is the most productive… But Trua truly believes in hers to be the governing force the universe should be run on. It was in your personality, developed completely and entirely independently of your angelic gift. Mahi is more a crusader then a strengthener, and Zul'vii is a rogue, peacemaker, and warrior more than she is a healer."

"I believe I have just been complimented by the Champion of the Banshee Queen…"

"Don't lose any sleep over it."

"Are you my friend?" she asked at last. He was silent a moment, before turning his head to look at her, gazing down at her with sharp brown eyes. It was a simple question- childish really. The syntax was all wrong for heroic dialogue, and content was absurd for adult communication. There was no hidden meaning, no adulterated context, and no ambiguity. It was perfect. Her whirling eyes shifting to a light, hopeful blue, and she lifted them to his as he stared at her.

Damn her eyes. They ensnared him like the webbing of some arachnid, drawing him fully in and churning him up, exposing every flaw, every mistake, every sin, every hidden secret. Then, then when they had all these lies, all this murder, all this evil laid out before them, they judged, and they judged with the greatest of mercy and forgiveness. They saw every malign thought, and they forgave, and they still looked on his face with admiration and empathy. _She_ still looked on his face with admiration and empathy.

And she shouldn't. She _should_ hate him. She, the paladin, the angel, the grand crusader, should hate him. Her eyes should blaze red with her elemental heritage, or her compassionate orbs should turn merciless and angry. At the very least, he should be punished for all his cold-blooded sins.

And yet he was not. It was one of the side effects of her forgiveness that Nathanos felt guilt. There was never another time in his life; there was not another thing in the world that could induce him to feel guilty or ashamed. It made it all the worse that while he knew she would never kill him for what he had done- she would never exact vengeance- she was also one of the few entities that had the power to do so. She was one of the few people in the world with the skill to murder Nathanos Blightcaller, and she would never do it. She would restrain him and turn his blades away in battle. She would yell at him and attempt to reason with him, but she would never kill him. Even as the Task Handler, she did not have the strength of prudence to overwhelm her endless compassion. To her, there were always second chances. To her, no one was hopeless and nothing was ever too late. If she were stronger then Ner'zhul, she might have treated him in the exact same way as she treated Nathanos, and as she treated all her undead.

Are you my friend? So strange and simple a question…

"No."

"Then why-" he covered her mouth quickly, silencing her and also pressing her cheek into his. She fell silent, though not because of the cool fingers against her lips.

"No," he insisted. "I don't even like you. Point out that I am letting you rest your cheek on my shoulder will only thoroughly piss me off." Her eyes lifted to his again, and he tensed. "I loathe being manipulated by your power, and I am gradually becoming of the opinion that the reason I've not thrown you off of me is because of your thrice damned angelic aura." He felt her jerk and tense unhappily, as if to pull away from him, but then she paused to reconsider.

"I do not understand. Normally you are so bitter around me because of my aura. Why would it start to affect you like it would any other undead?"

"Perhaps because of what happened in Icecrown."

"You were half-ghoul once before, and when you woke up you hated me worse than ever…" He was silent, a light frown forming on his lips. "If you look on that precedent, one would assume my aura is affecting you less- unless you are getting used to it or something of that nature…" Nathanos frowned deeper, but Ketala smiled beneath his cool fingers. "But then that doesn't seem like you. You're too stubborn to give in like that, and you're too cunning not to have realized you were giving in if you were," she continued.

"Stop flattering me…" he snarled, trying to think straight, glaring out at the beautiful, still ocean before them. Her eyes closed and she sighed, just resting against him.

"Why…?" he asked after a long time. "Why can't you leave me be? Why are you here now? I have asked you so many times to leave me alone, yet you do not. Is that n ot a violation of free will?" She pondered this question a long moment, her eyes still closed, before answering.

"How could it be so? It is your choice entirely as to whether or not to accept my presence."

"Why do you persist even when I tell you not to? Am I either to spend the rest of my days harassed by you or to give into you? Are those the only two choices you give?"

"Actually, I'm rather sure you can also either ignore me or distract me. For example, enraging Tyr's Hand to assault Andorhal should keep me away for quite some time."

"Why are you so insistent?"

"Because I'm your friend, Nathanos. And, as your single, sole, and only friend on Azeroth, it is my duty to enable you to smile with joy once before you die."

"It will be my death grin." She looked up at him and slowly, gently, wrapped her arms around his slender torso.

"I'd mourn for you. And for whatever convoluted reason, I would miss you too, Ranger Lord."

"… Find some Forsaken that actually wants your aid and your sympathy," he returned coldly.

"I would be hard pressed to ever find someone who knew the character of my personality," she said, smiling weakly.

"Ah yes. My very hatred of you has convinced your naïve mind that I see the difference between your personality and your angelic gift, and that I am the only one who could possibly appreciate _who_ you are, because of that."

"And is it not true? You just gave me a summary of who I am, didn't you?" He shook his head, disagreeing more with some idea he was thinking of then with her statement. He reached down to his ribcage, gently detaching her unscathed hands from his torso, and then he turned, causing her to step back so she wouldn't be knocked over.

"You want a companion like Mahi's little apothecary, and you know he was dark when she first met him. But there is a difference between he and I." She fell silent, her eyes whirling to yellow-green as she looked up at him silently. "Keever was good inside. His spirit prevailed even in a mind twisted with mindless sadism. Inside, he _wanted_ to be saved. Unlike myself."

"You-"

"And he's fond of her, and she of him." She fell silent, staring up at him a long moment, before lowering her head and looking at the ground, her shoulders drooping.

"… You're right…"

"Imagine that."

"… …I want a friend… Someone who sees more than another angel."

"And I am blinded to _only_ see another angel."

"Untrue. You like the 'Task Handler' remember?" He smiled darkly.

"I also slaughter children, remember?" She quivered and he smiled, pleased. "Go back to bed, paladin. You need the rest," he said, turning back to sea. She nodded numbly, starting to shuffle off. It was when she reached the stairs leading down, that she turned and looked at him.

"… Do you love me?"

"Not willingly. Undead have very little choice when it comes to loving you. Even Sylvanis is more… compassionate… towards her surrounding undead when she's under the effects of your aura. It's why Kel'Thuzad turned on Arthas to save you." It was an out of the blue question, but it did not pertain to love in the way that a certain Miss Proudmoore had said 'I love you' to a certain Warchief. No, the context of this question was much more general. For example, Lodan, Euquin, and Lachdan would have all answered 'Yes,' because they saw her as a grand savior and loved her like she was some matron deity, despite the fact that none of them were IN love with her. The answer did not take Nathanos more then a split second, and he picked up the context perfectly. It was just like her earlier question- 'Are you my friend?' In response, Ketala sighed… and then blinked.

"… Sylvanis…" she said suddenly, her eyes widening in horror.

"Ah yes, Sylvanis…"

"… She… Frostmourne…"

"Your power saved you. It did _not_ save Sylvanis. Now go to bed. In the morning, you can tell the others that your compassionate heart has compelled you to remain here in order to save the Dark Lady from a greedy soul devouring Runeblade."

"… One more thing…"

"…"

"… Can I trust you, Nathanos?"

"Yes," he said simply. "I am your ally."

And that was that.

* * *

Orgrimmar (Cont. From earlier)

While Thrall would have preferred heading immediately back to his people, as we have stated, there were some other matters he had to consider first. The first, of course, was Jaina herself. First, letters had to be written to Theramore. Political letters, reassuring letters, delegating letters, formal orders- they all had to be sent. Secondly, Jaina needed time to recover. Possessions by evil one-time-lover Lich Kings weren't things that were easily recovered from. She was not in the condition to conduct another teleport or to fly by wyvern.

When Thrall at last received word from Northrend, it again came in the form of an aged, blind, Shaman. He 'looked' knowingly at the Warchief as he dismounted from his leonine beast, and nodded. Though Thrall was both delighted to see the Shaman and suppressing mild chuckles when he thought about the Seer's warning that he would need his cape, he had less selfish reasons for wanting Drek'Thar in Orgrimmar. The aged orc looked worse for the wear, and though the cold had evidently refreshed his spirit, it had done only ill for his bones. Simply by looking at him, Thrall could tell that he had lost a small bit of weight. Drek'Thar was not monstrously old. In fact, he was still capable of melee combat and was still reasonably strong. But that did not change the fact that the Shaman was aging. The Horde did not need to lose this valued member of its ranks any sooner then nature intended… And Thrall worried for his sake on a more personal level….

"What news from Northrend, Elder?" he asked respectfully, leading the Elder from where the Wyvren had landed into Grommash Hold.

"What… do you desire to hear first…?" he asked, allowing the younger orc to guide him despite the fact that he was not as helpless as Thrall was sometimes prey to suspect.

"The others that fought the Lich King… What became of them?"

"All survived and escaped save two." Thrall adopted a pallor, gazing at Drek'Thul, grimly preparing himself to hear which two had fallen… "The Dark Lady of the Forsaken was entrapped in Frostmourne's blade, and the Lich Kel'Thuzad turned on the Lich King in order that the others could flee. His fate is unknown."

Well, if Thrall had to pick any two of his allies that he truly didn't care for…

But still, there had to be something they could do. "The Angel known as Ketala, the Forsaken, and the Scarlet Crusade, and the Human forces that Ketala brought with her, all desire to remain in Northrend to make war upon the Scourge… Theramore's forces are as of yet undecided… Ours, however, are indecisive. They are not sure whether this is our war or not… It seems to them they fight against a human enemy to human ends, not an orc enemy, and not for their own people." Thrall fell silent, and when he reached the audience chamber he sat in his throne, pondering and leaning his chin upon his hand.

"I see that you do not have the Doomhammer at your side," Drek'Thar observed gently after a few moments. Thrall grimaced, shifting, and shook his head.

"That is good."

"Good?" he grunted out in disbelief, lifting his head and staring at Drek'Thar.

"Yes. You desire to remain in Northrend, do you not?" Thrall nodded, sitting up straight. "Not only for the sake of proving your loyalty to peace, but because you know the Scourge is an evil that must be destroyed. You are hoping that this one time you may be able to get the Horde and Alliance to cooperate to destroy a threat to all… And that, perhaps with the undead gone, the Humans will be more willing to deal with demons." Thrall smiled grimly.

"More or less."

"But you have problems with this. With your troops are fighting in Northrend, you have brought countless men away from fighting- not only the Alliance who have agreed to a momentary truce- but from the various bases and forts scattered throughout Kalimdor and Azeroth. This fighting will cause harassment and some small suffering to your people. Without reasons for being in Northrend, your people will be malcontent."

"And how does the Doomhammer's absence make any of this better?"

"The Lich King was the shaman, Ner'zhul, who originally betrayed our people… And now the Doomhammer, the weapon of the great Orgrim Doomhammer is in his possession. I believe from there that our people will be able to generate enough rage and anger against the Scourge… and that with that pride and fury they will be able to continue fighting in Northrend, and to take their grievances at home in stride." Thrall nodded, silent, stroking his chin and thinking. This would take some careful planning…

* * *

Northrend (Cont.)

The Admiral Daelin Proudmoore gave a smile. It was a strange smile, seemingly weak and yet filled with hidden joys and satisfaction. He approached the crowd around the two leaders slowly, and after most of the populace was already aware of the arrival of the celebrated rulers. Ale had miraculously sprung from hidden caches, only to be chastised back into them by said rulers, awaiting a more secret location to spill their contents. Jaina looked well. The fatigue was gone from her eyes, and the hot sun of Durotar had brought the glow back to her cheeks. She was well dressed in silver, white, and violet, and heavily bundled and fur-lined against the cold; indicating that someone had sent back to Theramore for a portion of her wardrobe and someone else had modified it according to her tastes.

Jaina, herself, had not been in contact with Thrall much for the past few days. He had been busy rousing up his people to do battle against the Scourge. However, she had been treated with excessive care and luxury. Hot, warm baths, sweet fruits, thick meats, and kind words had a way of bringing out the spirit in people again. He had, however, found time to give her back her pendant, and she smiled upon seeing the trinket, inscribed with dolphin and ship.

"Was this how you found where I was?" she inquired of him. He had nodded, and yet he had again been busy, and had been forced to depart without exchanging any more questions and answers with her. So now she was filled with questions, and her natural curiosity had begun to overflow the cup of her patience. Still, the delight of seeing her people- her ships- her sailors fighting side by side with other races was unparalleled, and she was pacified long enough to enjoy all the embraces and other warm greetings.

When she first laid eyes on the only undead in the crowd, she blinked with some confusion. After a second, she fell silent, staring, and her face drained of color again. For a moment, she looked more undead than he did, and her cyan eyes opened wide.

"… Jaina…?"

It is possible that Jaina Proudmoore would have swooned right then and there, all her old stress dug up once more, if it were not for the great hand that grabbed her shoulder and steadied her.

"Daelin, no!" A voice hissed at the Admiral's ear, seizing his arm and dragging him backwards into the crowd. He sword, fumbling for his scimitar, and then blinked, staring into the eyes of one Ketala Truae. Like most undead, his reaction to locking gazes with Ketala was to cringe and twitch.

"What-What the hell are you doing?" he managed at last, straining against her pull. "Let me go!"

"Jaina Proudmoore has mourned every moment of her existence since your death! You nearly just shocked the life out of her! For the sake of the Light, give her time to recover! If someone beloved to you had died years before and suddenly appeared to you, half rotten, wouldn't you be a TAD disturbed?" He blinked, falling silent, and turned his head to look at his daughter, watching the orc… the _orc_… steadying her and trying to calm her down. "That beast-"

"Saved your daughter's life. I suggest giving him some credit, as he did it single-handedly."

"WHAT?"

"Daelin, calm down. There will be plenty of other times to approach her, and perhaps after everything has been explained to her she will not be so affected by your presence. Calm down. I shall tell you what happened, and then you can _calmly_ decide on when to meet with her- and how!"

"Why the hell should I listen to you?" Ketala slapped him, and he blinked, stumbling, and stared at her.

"Sorry, something wasn't working quite right in that brilliant head. I could have sworn you just said; without rational, basis, or even a bare hunch; that I could be in any way, shape, or form attempting to mislead you. It didn't sound like a thought worthy of the mind it came from. As you have been dead for the past four years, I would suggest that my opinion is a tad more informed then yours, even if she is your daughter and I am only an outside observer." He just stared, confounded as to whether or not he'd just been insulted or complimented, and let her pull him away with only minimal resistance and protestation.

* * *

Well, wasn't that a nice weird chapter? It seems like this is kinda a set up chapter. While the initial analysis would confirm that it indeed contains traces of emotions and emotional reactions, the actual structure of this particular excerpt of literature can be diagnosed as a chaptered utilized for the setting up of a scene. In this particular instance, the text leads toward the conclusion that all the races involved in the concerned tale are preparing to wage a long war against the evil body known as the "Scourge".

Too... much... essay... writing... Gasp SAvvee meeee!

Come to think of it though, I don't mind writing essays. I just like fiction better weee!

Recap: This chapter is setup chapter. We learn everyone has a reason for sticking around and making war on evil Arthas dude. We're given romantic, parent/child, and friend based twists! One must love twists.

Now Review! Or I shall quote Shakespear again!

P.S. The Fourth Harry Potter dissapointed. You can't cram a book of that size into that short a movie. They should have broken it up. And their editor must have beenfrom a mental institution and diagnosed withcompulsivecleaver hacking disorder.He cut every scene that mattered and left plenty of the ones that didn't.


	33. A Little Bit of Pity

Hey Guys! Sorry for the REAAAAAALLLLLY long update delay. First, there was a World of Warcraft Addiction, then a Master of Orion II addiction, then an AOE II, AOK addiction, and oh! It was just terrible. Then there was Christmas. As you can guess, I was on my computer a lot and not in the mood to do a dang thing but Bum. Fear my bummnation. Anyhoodie, I finished this chapter and waited till the scheduled maintenance ended. I hope you enjoy it. Any before you ask, no, I do not, in any way, shape, or form, desire to have you, myself, or any other misfortunate individual imagine The Admiral changing into new clothes. I'm just trying to prove he's an ass- he's just not evil.

Second I was upset! Everyone reviewed- so happy at the dialogue between Thrall and Jaina (aren't they a pair? I mean really, you could just sense the pairdome during The Frozen Throne Bonus Campaign, the Founding of Durotar. I don't really mind that you reviewed on them, in fact I'm glad, buuuuttt.), and no one said anything about Nathanos and Ketala! My poor beautiful Original Characters... Oh well, at least for the sake of my reading and rereading, they're developing well for me to enjoy reading about them. I really enjoyed writing Ketala in that chapter and in this one, because for the first time, we get to see a different side to her, in a way.

Hehe, I thought its funny that Nathanos gave two reasons he could not be Ketala's friend. 1) He wasn't fond of her. That was disproved many times in this story. He hates her, but in some weird, cosmic way, he's quite fond of her. Hey, don't look at me. If you read it, you saw him streaking her hair, too! 2) He didn't want to be save. He's also disproved that many times. He disproved it when Ketala got all mentally sick on account of Jerod's death, because 'he cursed her, and he prayed for the salvation of the angel who had so damned him,' and also he's been brought back from the brink of giving into death by her promises of helping. In some weird, cosmic way, he also wants to be helped. Thus, if we look at the evidence, Nathanos is a very mentally messed up person who is in deep need of counseling and a dedicated psychiatrist. Isn't he lucky he's being tailed around by someone who's good at healing minds (Ketala herself)?

This chapter is dedicated to Jaina, Daelin, and Ketala.

* * *

**_A Little Bit of Pity_**

**_

* * *

_**

**_Northrend, Ketala's/Human's/Orc's base _**

Ketala sat the Grand Admiral Proudmoore down in the mess tent and ordered some good Dwarven brandy to be brought to her. She then stood back, eyeing the Admiral through her helmet and musing. "Hmph… First, we are going to have to tidy you up. Being underground for four years has not made you beautiful." He frowned, but looked down at his hands, gazing at his rotten, skeletal fingers.

"Four years…? Is that how long it has been…?" She nodded.

"To my understanding. She has barely learned to accept your death. Until quite recently, it gave her nightmares every time she closed her eyes, and it grew to the extent where she had refused to sleep for months at a time."

The Admiral blinked, lifting his head and looking up at Ketala.

"Your memories of your death are blurred. You don't quite remember all the events surrounding it. You know you were killed by orcs, but do you remember her running to your side and kneeling, asking quietly why you hadn't listened to her?" He paled from gray to stalk white, starting at Ketala. "Do you remember that she was the one who told the orcs how to get through your defenses? Do you remember that when she knelt by your side, the orcs stayed their hands and did not harm her?" His skeletal hands gripped the bench his at on, his blazing, gold eyes wide, and his face paler and more drawn then could ever be normal, even for an undead.

"Jaina helped the Horde for the sake of peace, and her faith was well-placed. No matter how often she conferred with you, you would not believe in her alliance with the orcs. You found her to be no more than a naïve child. But Jaina is not child. She has bled on countless battlefields, and she has bled at the side of humans and orcs alike. When she begged Thrall not to kill Theramore's people in his invasion of her island, he dutifully kept his warriors concentrated on you. You were the threat to peace, and thus she had to sacrifice you to retain it. There has not been a moment since that in which she has not grieved for the loss of her beloved father." Ketala gave him a moment to digest this information as she was brought the glass of brandy, and she offered it to him. He looked at it weakly, wondering if he still had a sense of taste, and then stared back at Ketala again.

"Her faith in the New Horde was not wasted. Thrall himself went into IceCrown to save her. You first saw him at Theramore. That is because he, being a Farseer and a Shaman, sensed the conflict in Theramore. Jaina had given him a mass teleport scroll some time ago, and he had used it to get his army to Theramore Isle in mere moments. His people kept Theramore from being overrun, and they protected the city until the Nightelves took over that duty. Not only that, but there was already an entire War-Troll fleet there to protect the waters. Why? Because while Jaina's fleet- the one you are in command of now- was fighting in the Plaguelands, Thrall sent part of his to Theramore to protect her people. To be frank, Jaina's alliance with the Horde has been one of the keenest moves she's ever made."

The Admiral was, more or less, speechless. The sheer, overwhelming amount of information, all contradictory to what he believed, had left him in a state of confusion from which he was incapable to argue about how evil the Horde was, and how it should be destroyed. That… And Ketala's eyes, exposing his faults and forgiving them, were not helping his mind settle down.

"Just sit there for awhile and sort your thoughts out. Zul'vii should be here shortly, and she will be able to patch you up so you look a bit more lively. That, and you need some new clothes. And a new hat. That one's all worn.

He cringed and clutched his hat protectively.

"Alright, maybe not a new hat, but certainly new clothes."

"You be looking for me, Ketala?" inquired a female in fairly eloquent common. The confusion in verb tense (saying 'be' instead of 'were') was the only accent she had. Both Ketala and the Admiral looked at the tent entrance just in time to see what appeared to be a troll step in. The Admiral flinched at the sight. Orcs, trolls… What was next?

"I was. Zul'vii, can you aid me in making the Admiral more presentable?" The troll blinked and strode up beside the undead, placing her hands on her hips and eyeing the human critically. She was tall. Very tall. The Admiral had to tilt his head back to glare up at her.

"You want me to fix him up like I did the Ranger?"

"Yes. However, Daelin here is a generally impatient person, so we'll have to satisfy ourselves with whatever we can do here and now."

"What are you planning on doing?" the Admiral inquired roughly, finally gathering some of his thoughts and hatreds together.

"Zul'vii can heal; she can even heal undead. Basically, she can make you look a tad less corpse-like. Don't worry, Zul'vii's power stems from the holy light. We're not contacting demons to recreate organic tissue."

Blink.

"Oh, never mind. Just trust us."

Just trust an undead and a troll? By god, it would be the hardest thing he'd ever done.

* * *

(Cont.)

Apparently all females, whether fashionable, unfashionable, slobbish, or otherwise, all possess some innate knowledge of what exactly a 'makeover' is. Daelin stared at his whole (if pale) fingers, rubbing them to make sure he was seeing correctly, Ketala had sent him off to his tent with some new clothes. During his first long months of undeath, he had been too busy to lament his fate, and he had been too disgusted to examine how far he had decayed…

But he had seen his own face. He could have mirrors removed from his presence, but he could never escape the reflection of still water. It was part of his kingdom- the sea. He knew how decayed and rotten he had been, and he had been shocked and disturbed by the sight of himself.

Now, however, as he changed out of his filthy, ragged clothing into fine new material, there was no bone, no rot, and no decay left on his body. There was a sense of… wholeness… It only felt right to have strong muscle under his skin. It certainly _only_ felt right to _have_ skin. When he was dressed, he went back to his flagship, located a mirror, and peered at himself through it. His face… It was whole… His cheeks no longer had thick, rotten holes through them… His eyes were no longer burning yellow, but instead were whole, normal, human eyes. His hatred over being doctored by a troll dissipated as he gazed at himself…

No, he was not normal… But at least he was… whole…

* * *

Human's section of the base

Thrall gave Jaina the glass of water, gazing at her worriedly and sympathetically. Several of her men were gathered there as well, all trying to calm her. She sipped the water once one of them directed it to her face, and then slowly looked at Thrall.

"Why didn't you tell me?" was all she asked.

"I would have… and should have. I am sorry, Miss Proudmoore. With so many other things to worry about, I forgot to mention this."

"How… did… this happen?"

"When you were kidnapped from Theramore Arthas was trying to reanimate the dead on the island. A Forsaken Deathstalker managed to activate some type of antitoxin, which altered the Plague- or some such thing like that. The result reached the Admiral Proudmoore and he was brought back to 'life' as a free undead." Jaina shivered, drinking more of the water, and then half convulsed, spitting out the liquid, when a soft "Jaina…?" was heard at the entrance of the tent. One of the Sorceress's men got up and peered out of the tent. He was a few words into a speech about the Lady Proudmoore not being available when his mistress cried out sharply, "Let him **_in_**!" The other humans hesitated uncertainly, but finally allowed the Grand Admiral Proudmoore within the tent. He had his head down in order for him to stoop under the entrance to the tent, and he lifted it as he entered, the brim of his sailor's hate rising and revealing his face. Poor Jaina was as white as snow, shuddering, but she gripped the sides of her bed tightly and slowly made it to her feet. Granted, the orc had to help her. While Daelin was in no way thrilled about the Warchief of the New Horde being the comforter of his daughter, he checked his temper in order to concentrate on said daughter. Ketala had successfully imprinted on him that this situation was delicate, and that arguments with members of the Horde would only make things worse.

Thrall released Jaina when it was established that she could stand on her own, and he backed up respectfully when he had done so. The Lady Proudmoore just stared at Daelin silently a long moment, mute, before weakly taking a half- step forward.

"… The fleet was in good shape when I took command," the father began after a moment of silence.

"… I had a good example…" she said softly, staring at him. "And a good teacher."

"… It's good to see you well. When I was told what had happened to you… I was worried…"

"… Do you forgive me?" she asked weakly. Daelin blinked. Images flashed through his mind… The rage of combat. The fury of blades. The anger; so much anger. A winning axe-swing. The father gazed at the daughter silently. He remembered… a deep, thick, strange pain…. A face above his own asking why he would not listen…

He remember, and he turned his gaze darkly to the orc at her side. Then he blinked as she stalked up to him, and recoiled as she slapped him full across the face. He turned his head back towards her, staring as she looked up at him furiously, her eyes blazing with fiery spirit.

"I would like, father, to introduce you to my friend and ally. This is Thrall, son of Durtoan, Warchief of the New Horde. I ask you be courteous while he is here, regardless of your personal sentiments."

"That is a _foolish_ alliance! THAT is an orc! Their kind will never change!"

"No, father, it is you that shall never change! They were willing for peace, and they have proven so by their actions ever since! YOU restarted a war! Ask what is greater for our people- forgiving the orcs and bringing freedom, peace, and prosperity to our people, or making war with them, betraying alliances, and bringing our people war and suffering? You say you are trying to avenge our people, yet you bring them violence, war, and death when peace is an option!"

"What makes you think they wont betray you once they're strong?"

"Because that would be dishonorable. Thrall has proven himself to be an honorable person."

"HONORABLE?"

"Yes. He has honored an alliance even as you have not. By definition, it would follow that _he_ is more honorable than _you_." The Admiral's eyes flamed, his face reddening lightly from the meager amount of blood that his body possessed.

"How DARE you say such a thing to me? I have fought a thousand battles in defense of humanity-"

"AS HAVE I!" she cried, grabbing her sleeve and pushing it up to reveal a thick, well-healed scar. "This was the blade of a Doomguard demon! They stand three times as tall as a man!" Further up, another scar. "The arrow of a Centaur Khan! I've had several of my fingers re-grown, because some monster has hacked them off! I've saved the world from a demonic invasion! I'm a veteran, _just like you_, and I refuse to be spoken to as if I were a child. I have seen my people raided. I have watched men explode with demonic power inches away from me, and I've seen children butchered and raised on pikes! And I have faced it all side by side with orcs. Do not even try to tell me that my words are those of a naïve child! You were not there at the defeat of Archimonde, or at the slaughter in Strathalome. If you will not halt this warmongering, I, as the leader of Theramore, will take command of _my_ fleets!"

"YOU?"

"Yes! I am not the daughter of the greatest naval mind in the world for nothing!"

"If you think you can usurp my position-"

"You are no more an Admiral than a steward of the throne is a King. This is the Theramore fleet, not the ships of Kul'Tiras, and it is _to me_ that they hold their final loyalty. You have no jurisdiction here. I commanded the fleets before you arrived, and I can do so again. Now, unless you can behave courteously toward all of Theramore's allies, get out of my sight."

* * *

(Cont.)

Daelin's jaws were grit shut, and both leaders, parent and child, glared one-another down. Jaina's whole body was rigid with anger, and her chin was held up in pride that was, at least to the others in the room, evidently inherited from her equally stubborn-looking father. At last, the Admiral turned, stalking out of the tent. When she was sure he was gone, Jaina stalked over to her desk and sat down, her fists clenched and tears beginning to run down her cheeks.

"What is it you want, orc?" he grit out. He heard the large footsteps behind him, and he grimaced with hatred at the mere presence of a greenskin…

"Actually, I had a question about one of your naval strategy books." Daelin blinked, pivoting on heel to stare at the Warchief.

Thrall was tall. Despite the fact that "Thrall was tall" rhymes, it is, in fact, quite true. At 6'4" he was above average for a male orc and far above average for a human. Thrall also did not hunch. He stood tall with all of his inches, and had commendable posture. The orc was well-groomed, newly shaven, recently bathed, and had a very human expression of inquisitiveness and intelligence on his face.

Just a mask, the Admiral reminded himself. Behind it was only another beast.

"What?"

"Did you assume only humans could read? Being the leader of my people means I must know how to protect them- even in a naval war. And it is only fitting to study the strategy of the best in their fields. You are the best in the field of naval war."

"Where did _you_ get my books?"

"Merchants. Jaina gave me one as a gift for the New Year festivities."

"…What?"

"Ever New Year a ceasefire is called. If anyone violates it, their allies put them in their place. Jaina knew that I possessed some of your books, so she gave me a rare one that I did not have."

The Admiral simply stared.

"We… _are_ friends, Admiral… She saved my life when we faced Archimonde, lieutenant to Sargeras. And that certainly merits loyalty in return."

Silence.

"I wanted to ask you about a certain tactic…"

* * *

(Cont.)

The alarm tolled again, and then Jaina, somehow, was there. "Abominations and necromancers, from the shore! Thrall, we need your raiders to get behind them and take out the necromancers. Daelin, we could use some firepower by sea!" the Orc Warchief's great white wolf as with her, and Thrall nodded, mounting quickly and taking off. It is strange to be called by one's first name by one's child, yet an order was an order. And so Daelin, surprised, found himself running on instinct for his flagship.

Jaina fought like a veteran. Rather than standing off and protected by distance from the enemy, she was in the thick of things. She was where the fighting was, casting ice and fire left and right. A water elemental sprung up, and ice fell from the sky. The gouts of water from the elemental blew the undead monstrosities backwards, and the sharks of ice pierced their skin.

It was not long before the raiders were there. Twenty of the swiftest riders were there, all on wolves of various coloration, from red to white, to gray or black. All had thick scimitars or sabers in one hand and were gripping the scruff of the backs of their mounts necks with the other. The wolves bounded forward, some of them howling with anticipation.

The necromancers heard this of course, and some directed abominations and skeletons between them and the raiders. The two lines of combatants merged, the raiders dodging around the massive, meaty arms of decaying abominations. Sabers ignored the thick hides of the giant creatures, and instead sought out the soft robes and flesh of necromancers. One raider charged at a necromancer, only to be effected by _cripple_. The momentary fatigue and disorientation allowed for the swiping arm of an abomination to hit wolf and rider, sending both flying through the air. One abomination in a frenzy possibly inspired by the necromancers, began hacking madly, a few cleaver blows hacking raiders from their seats. A few ghouls swarmed another raider, pulling the orc from her saddle and biting into the flanks of the wolf, causing it to howl with agony… And then ice shards pelted into the abominations. Guts and fluid flew everywhere as the great beings bellowed in some primitive, primitive show of pain. The necromancers were felled one by one by the wolves dashing and jumping around the flailing undead bodies. They fell to the ground with little protest. Death was no stranger to them, and they all sought it in desire of being raised again as a lich or shade in order to further serve their master. The only things they showed that indicated they were still conscious, living beings were their groans of pain and gouts of blood.

Cannon balls from the ocean barreled into the lines, blowing away a few of the giant cadaverous abominations, and another one crushed a Cultist of the Damned into the ground. Jaina Proudmoore nodded to herself in satisfaction as she watched the raiders coat the last few necromancers with thick nets, keeping them from spell casting properly. The sputtering of popping flesh warned her of the presence behind her, and she turned to see a burning abomination lumbering towards her. Flame formed in one of her hands as she prepared to fight off the lumbering monster, but she was beaten to the kill. Thrall's white wolf jumped in front of her, with its owner mounted on its back. The beast leapt forward, landing on the Abomination's chest and sinking its thick teeth into the abomination's skull. Animal teeth are not sharp like animal claws. This is because animal teeth are no made for slicing. They are designed to crush. Bone buckled under the powerful jaws of the white beast, and a hammer, replacing Thrall's lost Doom Hammer, sunk into the side of the skull and collapsed it fully. The wolf jumped from the abomination and landed on the ground near Miss Proudmoore again, and Jaina glared mockingly up at him.

"That one still counts as my kill," was all she said. Thrall merely chuckled. "I've a question, Thrall." He lifted a brow, looking at her. "Why do you ride the black wolf into combat more often then SnowSong if you're spirit bonded to SnowSong and not the black wolf?" she inquired, coming up and gently petting the great white beast.

"Because it would be cruel to take SnowSong too far from her pups. I have made a spirit pact with her mate. He bears me into combat when war takes me too far from home." Jaina lifted a brow. "So the great Warchief is spirit bonded with a female? Doesn't that lessen your manhood or-?" she got a cuff on the head and both leaders laughed.

"And why is it you don't ride _anything_ into combat, Miss Proudmoore? You can't teleport everywhere. Shouldn't you have a horse or something?"

"I have a fleet of ships. Does that count?"

"Not for ground combat," he said with amusement. "Why do you not possess a horse?"

"Well… To begin with, I was born in a sea faring nation, not a plains-"

"You're the daughter of the King of Kul'Tiras, Jaina Proudmoore. I'm sure someone taught you how to ride horses."

"I prefer my own legs. They haven't failed me yet."

"You don't like horses, do you Miss Proudmoore?"

"…No."

"Why is that?"

"Lots of reasons. I trust my own feet better. They make too much noise, they're skittish, they're too stupid to know when to turn back or when to go on. You have to cover their eyes if you're going to take them in a public place because they'll get all nervous and start breaking things."

"Not well-trained warhorses."

"I've been bucked off a "well-trained warhorse" before."

"Hmmm…" he mused. The sound was a deep rumble in his throat. "It seems to me Miss Proudmoore, that over the years you have evolved a general distrust for horses."

"That would probably be a good way of putting it."

"Why don't you mind our wolves?"

"Well Thrall, they're not horses."

"Good point."

"So that is why you looked irritable on top of exhausted when you were mounted on that warhorse at the Bulwark."

"Yes, I haven't ridden in awhile, and I was sore the whole day." He chuckled, and moved to sort out his troops, and Jaina moved to sort out hers. It was a good day. There were few casualties, and two necromancers were currently being disarmed and drained of magical energy. That meant two prisoners. While the Cult of the Damned were not notorious for bending to the demands of captors, it was likely that Ketala could do something to persuade them. They had paladins burns away the remains of the dead necromancers and abominations with holy light. It was the only way to make sure the necromancers were not raised as liches, and the abominations did not begin to smell. If the abominations were burned normally, the stench was capable of killing those around it.

* * *

Ketala's part of the base

Ketala looked at the necromancers, lifting a brow. They had been stripped naked to ensure they had no magical possessions left on them, and then hastily garbed in rags. They hadn't eaten in a few days, they were a bit frostbitten, and both still retained a smug and evil smile.

"Nathanos?"

"Here."

"They look happy, don't they?"

"Delighted."

"So what do you think I should do with them?"

"I suggest the hugging torture."

She blinked and eyed him, before breaking out in a light grin.

"Oh ha ha."

"It is not likely that they will be able to reveal anything to us."

"And why is that?"

"Ner'zhul would never send any necromancers so recklessly against us that he had any desire of keeping."

"Good point. But why does that mean they will not know anything about how Arthas is keeping the minds of the Scourge away from me?"

"Arthas knows about your power. He also knows that we have the power to raise these necromancers as undead."

"... So he knows I'll be able to get them to tell me anything, one way or another."

"Exactly."

"... And therefore, he wouldn't allow me to capture necromancers who know how the minds of the Scourge are being kept from me." Nathanos smiled darkly.

"Good girl. I _am_ teaching you something. I was beginning to fear nothing got through that thick skull of yours."

"I love you too, Nathanos."

He chuckled darkly, drawing out an axe and balancing it on the back of his hand.

"Do you want to kill them?" she inquired.

"No. That is what they want me to do." He smiled up at her.

"I want you to make them just like all those other pitiful little souls that tail you around."

She grimaced, shaking her head. "And again I am the will-destroying tyrant. I must seem as bad as Arthas to you."

"Worse. That's why I stick with you."

"I'm glad you enjoy the show."

He laughed softly again and then flicked his axe into the air, catching the handle.

"Would you prefer them undead to begin with?"

"… Do as you please, Nathanos Blightcaller. I cannot touch the minds of humans as I can touch the minds of undead, but it is a bit against my calling for me to order that you kill and raise them as shades." He smiled darkly and she could almost feel the sickening necromantic energies building up inside him. Turning her head, Ketala looked at Nathanos for a moment. "It disturbs me how much you enjoyed hearing that."

"Come now, you know I love to slaughter," he said with a light smile.

"No. You enjoyed hearing how squeamish I was about raising them as undead." The smile widened, hawk-brown eyes peering at her with sadistic mirth. Then those eyes snapped to his targets. In one deft movement he had sent an axe hurling into the lung of one of the necromancers and had pulled his second axe to send it into the stomach of the other. Ketala turned her head away as the two humans choked and sputtered out their life's blood. "You do it to torment me, not them," she said softly, and walked off.

* * *

Thrall's part of the base

When Thrall invited Jaina to his tent, the human at first expected it to be like every other meeting between the factions- a planning for a defensive or offensive maneuver. She was sorely disappointed in that respect. The first clue she had that something special was in store was the look of suppressed delight on Thrall's countenance. The second was the tiny yips issuing from within the command tent. He went to lead her in and paused, hesitating a moment.

"But first… you have to close your eyes."

She blinked. "What?"

"It's a surprise," he said, managing to seem more solemn. She arched a golden brow and then obeyed, closing her cyan eyes. He smiled, pushing the tent open, and then gently took her tiny hand in one of his great green ones, drawing her in. After a moment, he released her hand. "Alright… you can open your eyes now." She obeyed and her eyes widened upon seeing several tiny pudgy puppies all curled up against SnowSong, who was lounging in a nest of blankets in the center of the tent. She smiled and looked at Thrall for permission. When he nodded, she knelt and gently pet SnowSong, calling her puppy and earning a giant lick. She laughed softly and turned, gently petting one of the puppies.

"They're adorable Thrall…" she said with a light laugh.

"They are. And they'll make great companions like their mother one day."

"And will make her proud," she said with a smile. Silence for a moment.

"Do you want one?" Jaina blinked, looking at Thrall.

"Want one?"

He nodded. "I owe you a present for the last Winter Veil Celebration."

"But Thrall-"

"You could use a mount, and you do not like horses. And all the Horde wolves seem to like you for some reason." Jaina was about to protest again, but she shut her mouth, thinking furiously, and just looked between Thrall and SnowSong a few times.

"But I'd be depriving your clan of a good wolf-"

"Then I shall give you a runt," he said with a wink. "You could use one. About… this high, perhaps?" he asked, holding his hand about three feet off the ground. Jaina scowled and shoved him, causing him to laugh.

"Are we talking about me or a gnome?"

"Aren't they one and the same?"

Another shove.

He chuckled, picking up a brown wolf pup tenderly and carefully, and rubbing SnowSong to assure her that all was alright. After a few moments of stroking both pup and mother, her turned and gently offered the little one to Jaina. She was silent for a moment, eyeing it uncertainly...Then, slowly, she reached forward and took the pup under the arms with one hand, scooping the other carefully under its back legs as thrall instructed. The little wolf pup made a small sound as Jaina laughed softly, holding the tiny creature against her and stroking its baby-soft fur.

"So small…" she said, and then chuckled as it nosed against her, and she embraced the tiny thing lightly, showering it with nonsense praise.

"You like him, I see."

"Of course. He's so precious-"

"Then he's yours."

"Thrall-" he smiled, placing a green hand on her shoulder.

"It is my gift to you," he said in response. "And besides, now he seems fond of you. You could be potentially breaking a Spirit Bond if you did not take him."

She bit her lip, eyeing the wolf uncertainly a moment still, and then she nodded, hugging the small brown creature gently. Oh how her father would rave when he saw his daughter riding on an orcish wolf. What would her people think? She could laugh at the thought. _That_ would certainly make a clear statement to the other alliance peoples- Theramore and Orgrimmar were allied.

Even if everyone would accuse her of being mad.

"You're going to have to teach me how to take care of him."

"I would be glad to, Miss Proudmoore. It shall take my mind off this cold wasteland."

* * *

Outside of the Base

Ketala sighed, bundling up against the cold. She still felt the cold, unlike most undead. Her nerve cells still remained within her body, and though Ketala was undead we must remember that she retained most of her life processes. She was outside, draped carefully wrapped in fur, and was trekking through the trees surrounding her base. To save her ears and face, she had replaced her helmet with a leather and fur cap. The half elemental had no fear of attack- Ketala was more then skilled enough to defend herself, and her senses would warn of her of the approach of any enemy. Too long serving Nathanos had given her the hearing of an elf ranger, and she, better than anyone else, could sense an undead. Her booted feet crunched silently into the snow as she walked.

After a long time, the undead paladin stopped, gazing down at her feet and sighing. She really was a warrior… a fighter… a weapon… And very little more… During Ketala's short life, she had rarely known a time of peace. A scant few years at the Paladin Church supplied her with all she knew of peace or stability, and even then she had been training herself to be a better warrior. Ketala's was a chaotic world, like the elemental whirling of her eyes. She had been trained to be a warrior since birth. She was a paladin, a ranger, a deathknight, a magic user, and something vaguely resembling a swashbuckler. The movements of blades were her world. The falling of flame or ice was her rain. Angry, frightened, disembodied spirits were her family. Her only homeland was a war torn, plague ridden land of death.

It was strange that Ketala had a perfectly clear picture of what life, peace, wholeness, love, and compassion all were. It was strange that Ketala could comprehend or know of anything but the slice of a blade. Nathanos was right when he said Ketala hugged closely to her gift. She had from birth, been the perfect candidate for her angelic gift. She had no fear. She had skill with fighting that few could triumph over. She had boundless, naïve love… But _how_? How was it possible that Ketala had developed this loving personality when she was mortally nothing more then a piece of weaponry?

It would be hard to say. For the first time, it occurred to Ketala that she had no idea where she had come from. She did not know how it was possible for a human and an elemental to mate. She did not know how it was possible for an elemental to exist that possessed qualities of every single element. Ketala had no idea how she had come to exist, and had never met the entity (or entities) that had brought her into the world. The thought occurred to her that she had not been born at all, and in fact never had any parents. It was more then likely that she had been engineered in Scholomance. In fact, it was the most likely of the possible locations of her origins. Kel'Thuzad had possessed close ties to Caer Darrow and Scholomance. It was there, having struck a pact with the Barov family, that Kel'Thuzad began the Cult of the Damned. It was from there that the first apothecaries had emerged from, and from there that necromancers were trained every day. It was there that the greatest minds of the Cult and of the Scourge still resided. It was from there that the greatest horrors of the Scourge always originated.

A particular favorite of the beings who dwelt in Caer Darrow and the infamous Scholomance below it, was to combine undeath with the most powerful beings they could get their hands on. It was always possible that there had been hundreds of failed experiments before Ketala, and that it had at last been discovered that the only way to create an undead elemental would be to raise it in life to maturity and then kill it. All in all, however, Ketala had no way of knowing from whence she had come. It occurred to her that it might be a good idea to try and find out her origins once this whole affair with Arthas was over.

"I have a question to ask of you." Ketala was silent a moment, and then she sighed.

"Perhaps I do not want to answer," she replied, lifting her head and looking up at the being perched in the tree above her. He was sitting down and leaning against the trunk, inspecting the edge of his blade with a strange sort of concentration and fascination. At her reply, a small smile touched his mouth, and he turned the runeblade to the side, looking at its edge.

"Why is it that you are continuously able to elude me? My trap was evidently perfected, as it successfully ensnared all of my enemy's mindless pawns… Even Nathanos walked into it. Yet somehow… somehow… you managed to elude me- again." Ketala said nothing, looking up at him as he gently peeled ice from the surface of the blade. After a moment, he looked at her, blue eyes ringed with sickly yellow and green behind his helm, and he smiled. "Its nothing you do differently. Your luck is phenomenal. Each time, you were rescued. But how is it that you manage to get rescued? How _is_ it that no matter how far Kel'Thuzad falls, and no matter how far he is under my will, you somehow manage to worm defiance out of him?"

"Because I love him."

"Yes, but _why_?" Ketala frowned. He chuckled darkly. "Of course I know you were thinking about that. You have no power against my mind without Sylvanis in there to shield you." He tapped his temple to emphasize and smiled.

"I do not know why. At least I know that I am certainly more loveable than you."

"Ah yes… I shall have people dancing on my grave and my blade shall not mourn me." He smiled at her, pulling his blade around and pointing the tip at her.

"And then, somehow… you eluded my blade as well…"

"I am angel. Varimathras would have told you that."

"Ah, yes," he said, his small, dark smile curling into a more amused shape. "But what makes you think that protects you, when Frostmourne can steal even the souls of demons?"

"Then perhaps faith in the light is stronger then you thought."

"Perhaps. But then why did my faith not save my soul from the blade?"

"What faith, Arthas? You never truly had any grasp on faith." The Deathknight chuckled and pushed himself out of the tree, landing on both plated feet. Ketala was silent, simply lifting her hands and resting them on her scimitar hilts. The Lich King merely chuckled, taking a few steps so that he was just outside the reach of her blades.

"You say to yourself… that you are the better swordsman. In fact, you know that you are. That is why you are so valuable to me. Your skill with countless forms of weaponry, your mastership of the elements… And the forces you wield that would be deemed by most to be 'good'."

"Yes. In essence, I am a very pretty piece of arsenal." He chuckled.

"But you forget Nathanos's words. You should not neglect his wisdom like the last time you faced me. This is not a contest of swords… but a contest of wills." Ketala's eyes half closed as she gripped her blade hilts tightly. She just gazed at the Lich King as he lifted Frostmourne, touching the blade to her arm, where she had been struck by it. "Not an ounce of essence drained," he murmured, almost in awe. "Not a sign of the wound… not even the telltale sting at the nearing of the sword…" He lifted the blade to her breastplate, touching the tip to where it had earlier sunk into her chest. The armor had been ruined, and had replaced with fresh, white, paladin plate.

"You are evidently here for some reason other then to kill me or capture me, else you would have done so already. Dragging things out is not your style. While you are evidently dead, and have eons of time in which to be patient, you prefer action over gloating."

"Perceptive. Kel'Thuzad truly did train you well." Her blade arced upwards, hacking the rune blade away from her.

"And Anub'arak. And Uther. And Gydrion. And Nathanos. And Varimathras. And Sylvanis. But not you. I owe nothing to you, and it would not matter if I did." He chuckled and his eyes flamed blue as he gazed at her.

"You have lost Sylvanis, Ketala. Who will defend your mind now? You are helpless without her rage to shield you. You failed to protect her physically, and so she is not there to protect you mentally." He gave his sword a light flick, the essence of a banshee swirling around it for a moment, and a ghastly wail issuing before the essence was pulled back in. Ketala tensed, her eyes starting to turn orange. "And, you would be completely and entirely at my mercy if you gave into your elemental heritage." Ketala held her one drawn scimitar poised in midair, the weight of the situation settling down upon her. "You asked what would happen if I took the field. Well, here I am. There is no champion to defeat me, now. There is no warrior with the skill to defeat me in blades who also has the power to stand up to my will. Nathanos would be crushed beneath me with the simple promise to end his life… And you…

"You are just an angel of compassion. Empathy weakens you, like it did that day you fought at the Bulwark and had your troops flee from the Scarlet Crusade." Ketala went very still, her breathing halting all together. "Shall I test my theory?" Ketala screamed, falling to her knees as images of her guardian… her parent… her protect… images of Kel'Thuzad… flashed through her mind… Images of all the tortures Arthas had done onto him… and of all the tortures he still had planned. It was her fault this had happened. It was her compassion that earned him these horrible rewards… She gasped, sobbing, clawing at her head as more images flooded her mind. Images of things that were, or things that were planned to be. When it finally let up she found herself lying gasping for air in the snow, shuddering madly.

"And if you die, the souls of all the undead that follow you are lost forever… to me."

"What… What do you want…? If I gave myself to you- they would be lost all the same!"

"In exchange for your life, Ketala Fiheriae, you, and all your allies, will pull back from Northrend and Plaguelands." She opened her mouth to protest. "You have no choice." She closed it again, her eyes shutting tightly at her fingers numbly gripping the snow. "And if you call them- your precious minions- to your aid, I will happily kill them one by one."

* * *

(Cont.)

Ketala shuddered, cold tears dripping down her cheeks and freezing against her face as she laid her cheek down against the snow. Arthas had found the one weakness in the Angel of Compassion, the one flaw out of all of the angels that he could exploit with abandon. Nathanos was right. This was never a contest of swords. It was a contest of wills. She had known and accepted that from the beginning, but it had never truly dawned on her until she had felt all her sins pressed upon her-

Her sins? They were not her sins. True, something she had done might have accidentally caused the happening of some, but Kel'Thuzad's torment had come, each time, from a willing sacrifice on his part. There had certainly not been her hand that ripped him asunder- and it was not her order that had caused him to be so tormented.

Memories and images of what were to be shoved their way into her head again and she screamed in agony, her world going dark and numb, with nothing but the horrid images to sense. Her mind dissolved behind the onslaught, much as it had against the Scarlet Crusade. No more death… no more slaughter… No more! The knowledge that Arthas would slay her people if she let them near served to give her the strength needed to keep them at bay. She would not cause more suffering. She would not bring more death to her people. But oh… the images… the images… She shoved herself into reality once more just long enough to see the Scourge gathering around her… To hear the howls of her beloved undead in the distance as they screamed their distress to the world.

The images would not have been as effective against Ketala had they not been accompanied by memories. It was like opening old wounds only to pour gallon after gallon of salt and oil upon it.

…**_Run! Run!_ She called to those that would stay back and defend her. _You cannot fight them!_ Her terror caught and commanded them, urging them forward. They fled from one side of the camp to the other, the liches hurling ice magics behind them to keep the Scarlet Crusade occupied but following so that they did not stop to raid the tents. The led the maddened paladins and priests in a circle around the camp, to where Zul'vii sat among the sickened animals and soothed their pains. An abomination reached forward, grabbing the half troll and picking her up. Zul'vii yelped, staring as Ketala seized the minds of the animals as well and made them run. They ran; they all ran. They moved as quickly as their bodies would allow…**

Coward. Failure. Powerless.

The undead might have been powerless to help Ketala because they had very little mind power to act with, but there was one, a tracker among them all, who possessed every skill necessary to finding their matron. He easily diagnosed the situation, realizing that Ketala was in grave danger. It was a simple task to distinguish her footprints heading out into the snow. The Blood Elves did not have a base in the region that the undead had settled in, so Ketala was one of the few people who could leave such a light and inconspicuous step.

It did not take much effort for Arthas to keep Ketala reliving the memories and images he plagued her mind with. Shoving her back into the war at the Bulwark had caused her to spiral downward into feelings of helplessness, grief, and shame. She was trapped in that mindset now, and those memories. They played over and over again- sometimes lasting longer, sometimes starting further back. And then, for whatever reason, they took off. They took her through Jerod's death, through Euquin's and Lodan's discussion of her inability to cope with the death of the poor priest. She remembered Zul'vii trying to touch her mind and to calm her down.

"**I… I'm too tired, Gydrion… I can't deal with her mind right now…" The Paladin nodded, grim. "I need rest… I… I'm sorry," she said, truly very unhappy, and she got up, staggering over to her own tent.**

It was not in her memory, but it had happened all the same. Her undead had witnessed it, and so she remembered it as if it had actually happened while she was sensible… She felt Zul'vii try to touch her mind later, reaching out tentatively and then snapping back. At the edges of her conscious, she felt the half-troll's thoughts.

**The mental field was Ketala's domain. Trying to contact her in a state like this was like trying to launch oneself into a pool of boiling oil. One just cannot bring oneself to do such things.**

Ketala gasped, her eyes flashing rapidly as she convulsed. She felt nothing. Her eyes were wide, but she saw nothing. Her ears were unstopped by she heard nothing. The mental field was Ketala's domain. The mental field was Ketala's domain. The mental field was Ketala's domain. Kel'Thuzad, the greatest of Arthas's advisors… He had been worn down by her mind and had become compassionate twice already. But Nathanos had said she was no match for Arthas. Nathanos had said she was too soft and would break to easily.

… Strangely enough, that was exactly what she was doing by trusting in Nathanos's words… Oh the memories… They blinded her and numbed her, and made it so hard to think… She was fortunate that someone knew her better than Arthas. She was fortunate she could trust Nathanos. She had no concept of the idea that he was there. She had no clue that he had dropped down from the trees and now stood protectively over her body. But she could feel his mind, pressing insistently at hers. He was not pleading for her whereabouts like her other minions. He was outright demanding for her to talk to him. Her mind opened a hair's breath at his insistent badgering, and she cried out in agony as she realized she might have just endangered him.

_Ketala… Help…_ Her eyes opened wide, flaming with spirit, her mind seizing Nathanos's and wrapping protectively around it. Her essence wrapped tightly around him, her mind shielding him from Arthas's horrid power. Telepathy bored its way into her mind and her depression weighed her down. There was nothing… nothing she could do. She was the weaker, and he was the stronger. Memories brimmed to the surface of her conscious again, and she moaned, losing her grip on the Ranger Lord. _KETALA!_ Her name reached her, jerking her from her depressed stupor.

**The mental field was Ketala's domain. Trying to contact her in a state like this was like trying to launch oneself into a pool of boiling oil. One just cannot bring oneself to do such things.**

The mental field was Ketala's domain. There, she ruled.

_Because you have no sins. No one can hurt you unless you give in._

_I… have… sins…_

_None that have not been forgiven. He strikes at you with nothing but one mistake you made. What about him? What about all the sins he has committed? I thought you could not die until he had paid for what he had done to you and to all the innocents of this world? Then you cannot die now- and neither can you let him win!_

_You… said…_

_Who are you to give into fates and predictions? You curbed Kel'Thuzad. You know what to do. It is inbred, deep inside of you. It is your power, your weakness, and your strength. It is everything you are, and it is what makes you different from everyone- even the other two angels._

Ketala convulsed, Her iris and pupil faded together, both blazing gold.

_Tell me, Ner'zhul. Did it thrill you that it was no human or frail elf that rescued Jaina Proudmoore… But an orc? The Warchief of the Orcish Horde, as you once were? _She was sightless. Her mental power and his was her whole world. _Her_ whole world. Her domain. Her realm. Her kingdom. There, she ruled. She simply fought differently then him. Uther had taught her. Uther had taught her not to hate, but to pity. To pity, and not fear.

**_Pity him for all that he does not have._**

**_Like what?_**

**_Like life… Life as you described it to Gydrion…_**

**_He has everything. Power, for one. And he doesn't even care about 'love' or all our mortal sentiments. He's not hurt by lack of love, and the lack of it certainly hasn't made him any less powerful. I don't understand how I can pity him without any reason but our philosophies._**

**_You will… Don't worry… before the time comes, you will. _**

**_And pity is a dangerous emotion. _**

**_No. Fear, and fear for the sake of others are dangerous emotions. Recognize fear for what it is an control it. Do not be afraid to lose ghouls. Simply be concerned with keeping them alive._**

**_That doesn't make sense to me. Pity would say I do not kill the litch king, yet pity would cause the death of all those I love in that fashion. Arthas doesn't _want _to be saved, Uther._**

**_It will make sense one day. And when the time comes, pity and fear will both lead your hand. Make sure you choose the route that empathy sanctions… that compassion has chosen… and earn your new namesake…_**

Pity and not fear and not hatred. And Ketala did know what to do. Nathanos and Uther were right.

* * *

I was going to tell you what she was going to do, but I think I'll leave it a little more ominous. I don't want this to be over too quickly. Ketala's entirely senseless. She has no idea what's going on. We know Nathanos showed up, but he didn't last too long against Arthas last time they fought. She probably has no idea how much time has passed either, which means she could wake up anywhere, at any time.

Can anyone guess what Ketala has decided to do? Its really a hilarious suggestion, and she's been denying that she could do such a thing the whole time, but that's exactly what she's going to try to do, because its exactly what Ketala would do. I hope the next chapter comes to you a little faster then this one. Happy New Years!

By the way, does anyone dislike the flashbacks? I like them, because they tie the story together. Also, I get to repeat the most well-written parts of the story, and I get to refresh your memories. I like repeating the best-written parts, because, well, they're the best-written parts. I mean, come on. Good lines are fun to use twice because you find them good.

Man, these heroes aren't having any luck. They saved Jaina by pure luck and lost Sylvanis. Then Ketala just goes out for an innocent little stroll, and the only person on the continent who stood a chance against her shows up. Lol, this is like some days I have on World of Warcraft when our whole raid wipes on a boss and then I accidentally click the gryphon master instead of the horde windrider master, and get pvp flagged and die of hunter poison midair on a wyvern.


	34. A Dedicated Friend

Weeee, hello everyone. Look, I'm back on update schedual. I didn't get many reviews last time, and Yeth posted on a chapter I liked and said he had nothing to say. Am I losing fans? Is the quality of my story dissolving? I wrote the last chapter based on urging from a particular fan that the Admiral is NOT evil, and he didn't eve review! ARE THERE TOO MANY MESSED UP RELATIONSHIPS? Give me feedback people! Tell me what is wrong! Tell me what you think! Tell me if you've stopped reading this!

Muse "You do realize if they aren't reading this, they'll never see that message, right?"

SILENCE YOU NONEXISTANT FOOL!

Ahem! Yes, so please tell me what you're thinking x-x. I wish I had a rollcall button so i could see if anyone has stopped visiting my work and i could ask them why they nolonger like it. I thrive on feedback. Without it, i lose the will to write x-x.

* * *

**_A Dedicated Friend_**

* * *

Nathanos hissed, feeling his blood and strength spilling out from between his ribs. The blood was not as pressing, for it was not vital and he did not have that much to give. However, the wound damaged the power that held his undead frame together. He needed to heal and regenerate… He needed to bind his wounds… The wound was weakening him. Still, he could not do so. Both his hands were currently employed. He shifted his gaze back to Ketala, looking down at the elemental. Her eyes were red, indicating that her elemental side was still in control. It would do no good to try and talk to her until her eyes returned to their normal… well, until they stopped being red. Oh… she was heavy. While he certainly would have been able to lift her if he were not wounded, the gashes over his body weakened him to the extent that he could not pull both Ketala and Ketala's set of full plate armor over the cliff from which she dangled, and he could certainly not do it while the carcass of an abomination dangled by its guts from her feet.

Such was his dilemma. Ketala had gone over the cliff, hacking the abomination apart. He had caught one of her arms, scimitar and all. While there was a chance that that arm was now dislocated or broken, Nathanos had successfully kept the undead paladin from plummeting down to the gorge below. However, Ketala on her own weighed quite a bit in her armor, and, until he could talk to her, she did not have the presence of mind to detach the abomination's entrails from her body. Without an enemy to fight, the Task Handler really did not have a clue as to what to do. Therefore, it did not mind the fact that it was being weighed down by hundreds of pounds of dead flesh If only he could get her to hack the entrails apart…

He grunted, using some of his necromantic energies to pull some life back into the abomination. _That_ got her attention. The scimitar in her free hand descended, hacking apart the intestines and sending the bellowing monstrosity down to its doom on the icy, rocky chasm below. The area was foggy. Nathanos did not see the abomination once it had vanished into the blue haze of the gorge, but he heard the wet sound it made as it hit the ground.

There, at least now Nathanos could be sure that he could hold onto her. Ketala herself just sort of looked around, examining everything around her. There was a reason for this, although it caused Nathanos no end of swearing about how stupid she was. Ketala's conscious was not connected with her body, for whatever reason. There were no thoughts for the body to pick up on. While all the subconscious, reflexive abilities were there, just as they always were, the Elemental Task Handler had no logic to fall back on. After a moment, Nathanos grunted and purposefully let her hand slip a bit. He smiled as Ketala reflexively tossed her free scimitar up over his head and gripped his arm with her free hand, her feet seeking footholds in the icy slope. He had no hope she would find them. The surface of the cliff face was concave, arcing away from her, and was icy and slick. Still, at least she was trying something.

Nathanos sighed, looking down at her. "I've changed my mind. I prefer you with a bit of rational thought as opposed to a mindless slaughtering machine," he said, his fingers squeezing a bit tighter as he felt his grip slipping. She just gazed at him with her red, blazing eyes, and was at once so powerful and so helpless…

"Do you need help?" Human voices. Nathanos tilted his head slightly to get a glimpse of red and gold decoration. Dang Redcoats.

"Mmm. That depends. Are you willing to help haul a full-plate paladin up a cliff?" he asked, ensuring to use the Human tongue as opposed to Gutterspeak. There were some exchanged words. Then Nathanos heard the quick crunching of several boots into the snow, as two of the crusade hurried up to him. Without looking, he could distinguish between the heavier steps of a paladin and the lighter steps of a priest. One of each came up behind him. Nathanos was situated so that he was laying down on the snow, his elbows under him and his hands wrapped oh so tightly around one of Ketala's arms. The scimitar jutted upward and tilted to the side, so that it came to rest beside his face. He was lucky that it had not taken off his head when he had made his desperate grab to keep her from falling to her death down the cliff face.

"What happened?" asked a female voice behind him.

"She went over-" However, Nathanos was interrupted as the female realized who he was holding up.

"Ketala? Ketala! Are you alright?" The Ranger Lord blinked and his lips curled up as he chuckled darkly. Both Scarlet Crusaders paused to stare at him, blinking as he shook his head.

"There is no way to currently reach the mind inside that head of hers. There is nothing currently to answer you but the spirit of an elemental. Don't bother talking to her. See the red of her eyes? That's the sign. Her mind is currently busy with another task, and all that is left to pilot her body is instinct."

"Instincts?" asked a mistrusting but worried voice.

"Yes. They consist of "Kill that, that, that, not that, defiantly not that, and more then anything, kill that."" A moment of silence.

"That's a bit… mindless, don't you think?"

"Maybe. She picks what not to kill. Never hurt a kid, and the one time she fought me, she wouldn't kill me," he reflected. Stunned silence.

"…You…are wounded…"

"I am undead. There is nothing you can do to help me. Seeing as you no longer appear so willing to help, perhaps there is something I can try in order to pull her back to consciousness… " His eyes closed, and he weakly lifted himself up to his knees, pressing his chest armor against the scimitar that she still clutched tightly. When he felt it resting and pressing against his chest armor, he tilted his head, pushing his throat against the edge of the blade and drawing a faint trickle of blood. The Ranger Lord was not disappointed in his innate ability to manipulate the Angel of Compassion. Ketala gasped, trying to pull away from him, and she hissed as she tried to pull her blade back from his throat. Nathanos merely grunted, holding onto her as she managed to thrust her scimitar away from him, and he watched it to make sure it did not go off the edge of the cliff. It did not. As soon as the blade was away from Nathanos's throat, Ketala stopped struggling, and she relaxed, breathing heavily, as her eyes started yellowing in hue.

Ignoring the fact that he was prone for any coup de grace that the Scarlet Paladin might perform, Nathanos merely opened his eyes and chuckled at the half-elemental.

"Good girl," he murmured. She lifted her eyes to his, shivering, her fingers tightening around his arm. After a moment, her eyes flicked to the two Scarlet Crusaders. She gazed at them for a few seconds, and then turned her gaze back to the Ranger Lord above her.

"… My arms hurts," she said softly.

"And my side hurts. Big deal. Now, will you please call some of your followers here before I lose all feeling in my hands? I cannot pick you up on my own." Rather then answering him, Ketala looked at the priest. The women recognized one another, as the Scarlet priest's earlier comments had suggested. Ketala had rescued this very same crusader once, a long time ago, in the Eastern Plaguelands. This had been the very same priest she had met on the march to lower Quel'Thalas, and the same priest she had sailed with to Northrend. It seemed destiny had written that they were to continuously meet until the end of all time. After a moment, Ketala released Nathanos's arm with the hand that he was no holding on to, and he grunted as she grabbed at the icy ledge of the cliff face, her fingers edging toward the priest. It took only a moment for the Scarlet-clad woman to kneel, and it took only an instant for her to seize Ketala's arm, plant her feet into the snow, and pull. They managed to get Ketala all the way up till her waist was resting on the edge, before all three individuals tensed and froze up, staring at one another. The ground beneath them had just sunken around 5 inches downward.

It was, of course, Nathanos who reacted first. He snorted, a wide and evil grin appearing on his face. He regarded Ketala with amusement, noting how she held very still and carefully analyzed the situation.

"You need to lose some weight," he reflected. Another slight lurch, and they dropped a centimeter more. Both undead ranger and undead paladin looked quickly to the side as they watched one of her scimitars slide down the (now slanted) icy ground. A ridge of ice and snow barely kept it from going over the edge. Slowly, Ketala looked back at Nathanos.

"We're going to fall," she declared softly. She turned her head further and looked at the Scarlet Paladin behind them. "Catch her. Don't let her fall," she insisted. She turned to the last of the four, the priest, and gazed at her silently a moment. "Let go. He won't be able to pull all three of us up." The priest had only a spare moment to hesitate. Then Ketala had yanked Nathanos towards her. On impulse, both the priest and the ranger released her arms. This was fortunate. The last action Ketala managed to sneak in before the ledge broke was, of course, to quickly grab her scimitars. With that, the ground beneath her gave way, and she was allowed to enjoy the sensations of freefall. Besides Nathanos, who was holding tightly on to her, there was nothing around her but air.

Ketala's runed scimitars were very important. They were her tools- extensions of her will. They were not ordinary weapons to pick up and drop at will. They were not rare or enchanted blades designed for the soul purpose of killing. They even capped the relics of ages- weapons that stood for great cultural importance. Thus, they were more important then the Doomhammer.

The blades were part of Ketala Truae- seemingly built for her. They were like additional arms, and she would not abandon them for anything less then what an arm itself was worth. In fact, she would abandon the arm sooner than she would abandon the blade that the arm wielded.

However, this extension of being was deeper still. All of them present had heard the cliff barking, crackling, thundering. The icy formation was going to give. It was going to fall. It seemed foolish to grab for scimitars before grabbing for the cliff. But it was not foolish. Ketala reached for the scimitars because they were the outlet for her elemental powers. All the energy, strength, and wild power inside Ketala was utterly incapable of escaping and taking form without those scimitars. They were the way she focused the will of her elemental nature into the world. Without them, she was a dragon who could neither fly nor breathe flame.

Still, it seemed foolish to grab for the scimitars before grabbing for the cliff. True, she was far away and it was unlikely she would have made it. However, what good were weapons when one is falling hundreds of feet toward an unkind fate at the hands of gravity? Couldn't she have just let the weapons drop, and then gone after them later if she had managed to catch the cliff face?

She wasn't trying to catch the cliff face. The elemental instinct still blazed hotly within her, evident from the glow of her red-yellow eyes. "Aero!" she yelled, calling on an element she had never before put to use. Wind burst from her blades as she twisted, spinning the air around her in a fast circle around her, and then in an orb The ground rushed up to meet her. It came so fast, so quickly. The blades danced gracefully up into a crescendo, and then hacked elegantly downwards. The quickly spinning air rerouted and headed downwards, funneling into the ground from the air around them. The sudden massive pressure below them formed a cushion, repelling against them, before buckling outward in a wave of air. From four feet in the air, the two dropped, and both landed safely on their feet.

"… Natura…" Ketala murmured, and both scimitars returned to their dormant state. After a moment, she looked at Nathanos, shivering weakly. "… What happened…? I … I vaguely remember… in… in the forest…" Her arms shook, her eyes still mostly red. At last, her scimitars dropped from her fingers, and she pitched forward. Of course, Nathanos caught her, staggering and sliding to his knees, unable to stand. By god, he had to hope Arthas was not nearby. He had to hope she had called her minions, and that they would find her. Neither Nathanos nor Ketala could have fought off the Lich King in such a condition.

Nathanos was not one to hope. Ketala had lost her fur cap, and so the Ranger Lord pulled her cloak up around her ears and pressed her face against his chest, wrapping his own cloak around the both of them. Without a pulse, Nathanos did not have the required circulation to maintain a proper body heat, and he had lost much blood. Still, while he lived, he could help keep her lukewarm, and that would help prevent her from dying. If he died, however, he'd freeze solid, and Ketala would stand a chance of following him to that fate. To ward off this outcome, he detached a troll's blood potion from his belt and poured it over his waist. After emptying the container, her wormed himself haphazardly into a proper position for bandaging himself. When he was done with this, he pulled Ketala tightly against him and gently rubbed her gloved fingers with his bloody ones, trying to keep the feeling and warmth in her extremities. She needed to live till she had the strength to wake up… And she was so cold… Even for an undead, cold can be deadly. As neither he nor Ketala could move, their meager body heat would have to suffice to keep their bodies' from giving up.

* * *

Ketala opened her eyes, shivering weakly. Fur was pressed against her face. Her lukewarm breath had been insulated by the barrier of fur, and now her face was somewhat warm. Her toes were numb, however, and she moved them weakly, hearing snow shifts. Good, so her feet still worked. Fingers were wrapped around her hands. After a bit, she worked up the courage to leave the warm fur, and she lifted her head to see who had been warming her fingers. Nathanos. He had pulled her so that most of her body was shield from the gold by his. He had his hood up, and he had hitherto had his face pressed against her back and her, her head against his chest. When she'd moved, he'd slipped limply down into the snow. The Ranger's eyes were half open now, and staring. It took Ketala a moment of surprise before she huddled closer to him. Carefully, she shifted in order that she could be the one that held him protectively- not vise versa- and she cradled him to her. 

The half elemental touched his cheek carefully, and then began to rub it in a circular motion once she felt pliable- not frozen- skin beneath her fingers. Her other hand cupped his back and rubbed in a similar circular motion. The movement and friction revived his numb body, and his lifeless eyes shifted, turning to her face.

Nathanos was hurt. She could see blood on him and on herself. The lack of body heat was not killing him, but the cold was only further injuring his wounded body. After a moment of stroking his jawline and making sure he still … 'unlived', she looked around for her scimitars. Each was buried beneath a fine layer of snow and ice, but the half elemental felt their presence. She dug down to one and touched it, calling on Pyro, the element of fire. When the sword had melted free, she used it to free the other. After both had steamed away any lingering water, she coaxed both to flame lighter… and lighter… until they emitted nothing but heat. With this done, she held them gently against her wounded ranger, one blade pinned between their bodies, and the other resting against his back. With one hand now free, Ketala proceeded to tend to his wounds.

He didn't say anything. He waited silent. Even when she finished her tending, and she held him against her and rubbed his back warmly, he was silent.

The pounding of hooves heralded the coming of the least likely of rescuers. The Angel of Compassion lifted her whirling orange eyes, just in time to see a large party of scarlet-clad paladins riding their way down through the fog. Her hand did not still in its task of warming her companion, even as the leader caught sight of her, still his company with the motion of a hand, and trotted his mount over to her.

"I sense the undead taint," were the first words out of his mouth, and he eyed her critically. "Is he one of the abominations- the Forsaken?"

"He is. If you begin murmuring one hostile prayer against him, then may our Light have mercy on your soul." Her eyes flamed yellow in hue. "He is my friend. My name is Ketala Truae. If you think to discipline me for _lack_ of faith, then you will be sadly disappointed," she said, eyeing the paladin for a moment. Then, she looked down at Nathanos, embracing him tightly and resting her cheek against his shoulder. "He's hurt, freezing, tired, and quite possibly idiotic, and he just saved my life. Now would you PLEASE have the courtesy to leave him alone?" she grit out at the leader. "Or is fighting my only lot in life?"

"We did not come here to fight," he returned, the anger momentarily berated out of him. "Anna reported to us on our way back from assaulting a Scourge Outpost that a Ranger and a Paladin had gone over a cliff… Anna!" The female in question came forward. She had been riding behind another horsemen, it was evident that she had gone for help because she did not possess a horse. "Why is it that you did not report that the Ranger was undead?" The priest, Anna, swallowed weakly.

"The Paladin is too, sir. Ketala Truae is the leader of the second faction of undead fighting against the Scourge." The leader blinked, and turned in his saddle to stare at Ketala. "The Undead Paladin, sir…" Ketala looked up at him silently, waiting. She jumped unexpectantly when she felt a _Smite_ skip over her armor, and her eyes whirled madly, her arms wrapping protectively around Nathanos. There, in essence, was Ketala's trap, and the leader saw it plain as day. She could not pull out her scimitars without releasing the ranger she carried, and she could not defend the ranger without her scimitars. That was the reason she knelt, clutching him tightly, and did not stand up and draw both blades. It was the fearful look in her eyes that accompanied these movements that told the Crusader that this Paladin was no sham. But he stared as he watched her eyes widen and breath catch in her throat.

Ketala gasped out, the hand that held the warming blade against Nathanos going numb, her whole arm becoming fuzzy and weak. Oh god… What had happened? What had happened? She barely remembered the forest… striding through… wrapped in fur… She was thinking… What had she been thinking about? Where was she? Nathanos… Nathanos could tell her. Everything seemed to slow to her vision, blurring. Shadows appeared… Shades… How had she not sensed them before? She moved to grab her scimitar, to hurl it at them, but her arm was numb and she would not… _would not _let go of Nathanos with the other. The world was dimmer. The blue fog around her was accented with strange shapes, and whistling noises assailed her ears. Her mind reel and rolled with overwhelming, horrible amounts of detail about every last particle of water around her…. Every tiny piece of ice pressing against her palm… And then she saw The Lich King… That cursed… cursed image… Whirling and ghastly, like a drawing in charcoal- harsh and painful to the eyes. With a flash she had turned her head, and there it was, beside her, gazing down at her. Cold, malicious eyes gazed down at her, piercing through her past helmet and cape. The lips parted in a cruel chuckle, a shrill and yet deep, horrible sound.

"Sweet little Ketala…" Arthas murmured. "Who are your friends?"

"Light no… light no…" the cold, mailed hand reached forward, nearing her shoulder.

"You are mine."

"NO!" she shrieked. Never afraid. Only defiant.

"Shall they see? Shall they see how you have killed? How you are but… a weapon…?" Ketala moaned, sinking to the snow and hyperventilating as corpses filled the area around her. Never afraid. Only weak and confused. Walking corpses. Gutted or decapitated Scarlet Crusade… Humans… People… So many people… Paladins of the Silver Hand that she had killed in her short life with Kel'Thuzad… Corpses… Bodies… Bloody… Gory…

"You are no greater then I."

"No… no…I'm not like you… I'm not like you…" she hissed.

"And you will see that in the end." Grotesque, rotten hands reached out to touch her. Lips asked why death came. Never afraid. Only compassionate.

"Look out!" a voice called. "She's cursed!"

Calm… Yes… Calm… A voice gently reminded her to calm and to fight. Nathanos. Nathanos was right, she needed to calm. Ketala slowly grit her teeth and then let her breath out, releasing searing blasts of holy energy around her and onto her self. There, that felt better… The holy power flooding through her dimmed the presence of Arthas… as if he were… insubstantial…

A specter. An image.

She closed her eyes, shivering as she clutched Nathanos's limp form tightly.

_My God… What happened to me…?

* * *

_

Five fingertips stroked through her black hair. Occasionally, they caught an uncommon snarl in the limp, black tresses, and when they did, they gently worked it out. Her shivering must not have been unique to the moment. She must have been shivering for a long while; the being that stroked her hair gave no indication that it knew she was awake. So Ketala did not move. She held still, reassured by the slow, repetitive caresses… Stroke after stroke, gentle and comforting…

Cold. Ketala's eyes flew open wide, and she sat up and turned her head to see Arthas there, so close, one hand nearly touching her cheek. Had Ketala not possessed the immunity to fear of a Kender- that is, she was not frightened by anything- she might have screamed. Instead, she just stared silently back at the death knight, touching her hip and upset to find neither armor nor blade hilt at that location. However, a moment of thought reassured her that this death knight was only an apparition. He was nothing but a ghost, a false image, and the cold she felt was false as well. After a moment of gazing intently, noting that Arthas did not touch her, a voice at Ketala's side asked,

"What do you see?" Nathanos. Nathanos's voice. Nathanos had guided her through this whole mess so far. He would know what had happened.

"The Lich King," she replied solemnly.

"Does he look life-like."

"… Somewhat. More like a ghost."

"How so?"

"Distorted. Surreal…"

"What else?"

"Very close. Smiling now, in the way you always smile. Evil smirk."

The Half-Elemental stiffened as Arthas reached past her, toward the ranger she knew was beside her and just out of her vision.

"Can he hurt you?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"Can you see him?"

"… Not now. Now it's just a ghost of shadow energy that I see."

"Could you see him earlier?"

"While your mind was still close to mine- still defending mine- at the bottom of the gorge."

"What happened to me? All I remember is walking through the forest. Then nothing. Then the gorge. Then nothing. What happened?"

"… Do you remember Arthas in the forest?" She contemplated his words for a moment, watching Arthas pull back a hallucinated, decapitated version of Nathanos's head.

"He… was in a tree. He attacked my mind. I lost all sense of anything."

"I found you. I tracked you."

"You told me to protect your mine."

"And as you did, his minions arrived, and I fought them off."

"You told me… that there was something I could do to fight back against Arthas… Some inherent weapon I had."

"Your compassion."

"I fought him mentally with it."

"How? Do you remember how you did that?"

"I…"

Images flashed through her mind, of the cold snow beneath her cheek, of the mind that delved into hers with reckless hate.

"I did to him what I do to all other undead… as quickly, and as powerfully as I could…" She could almost feel Nathanos's cruel smile behind her.

"Tell me, why did you choose that path? Does it not seem horribly story-book and cliché to you?"

"…You told me I'd know what to do. Uther told me that when the time came I'd know what to do. So when that idea came to me, I trusted it."

"So you tried to befriend the Lich King?" he asked with amusement. She turned her head, looking at the real Nathanos, and he winced upon looking her in the eyes. She blinked and then turned fully toward him, her brows pulling together.

"Why do you do that? Why do all Forsaken cringe when they look into my eyes?" He looked away, thinking a moment as she shivered, feeling the cold of the specter nearby.

"…We are assailed by guilt." Ketala blinked, tilting her head to the side. "There is nothing else in the world that can make me feel guilt. There is the overwhelming sense of reliving every sin, having every sin dug up and examined in excruciating detail, and then being forgiven for what we suddenly _know_ we should be punished for." She fell silent for a moment.

" 'I have damned everything and everyone I have ever loved, and still I feel no sorrow… no remorse… no pity…'."

Nathanos slowly turned to look at her again. "… Arthas's words to Tichondrius."

"…And you just said looking into my eyes changes that. When nothing else makes you feel sorrow… remorse… my eyes will. That _I_ have this power. Tell me Nathanos, why is it you encouraged me so strongly to fight Arthas's mind, even though you said earlier I wouldn't be able to."

"I was desperate. I needed you to hold on as long as you could."

"That's not entirely true is it? Did some part of you really believe your words?" She smiled at his ensuing silence. "So there is a storybook hero somewhere in there?" she questioned, prodding his chest, a smile touching her lips.

"I believe the title would be 'villain'."

"Antihero!" protested a trollish voice from the side, and both turned to look at Zul'vii. "You're no different than Illidan or Keever!"

That was not what Nathanos wanted to hear. The moment of calm was over. Nathanos's eyes flamed with hate and he snarled, shoving Ketala away and getting up. The two had been in a mess of red blankets carefully bundled inside a red tent. The Scarlet Crusade had brought them back, despite the fact Ketala was cursed, and had even had the good-manners to not ruthlessly slaughter Nathanos.

Ketala was lucky that she had picked up on many of Nathanos's behaviors during the time she had spent with him. Her first and immediate reaction to Nathanos attempting to stand was to sternly refute Zul'vii's claim.

"I disagree. Nathanos isn't the slightest bit like Illidan or Keever." The Ranger Lord stalled, just to listen for a moment.

"Oh? How do you figure that?" the half troll asked back, entirely oblivious to the fact that she had said the absolute _worst_ possible thing to say about Nathanos Blightcaller.

"First of all, he hates you. No, let me rephrase that- he doesn't hate you. He loathes you, with every last remaining fiber of his being. Both Keever and Illidan like you. In fact, both Keever and Illidan like Mahi. They just kind of stare at her in awe that anything could be so magnificent. Nathanos wonders if her wings are flammable. Keever and Illidan are sentimentalists. Nathanos wishes he had some way to seed some _blight_ every time he sees a single, ugly, twisted little flower. You should have seen him on the boat here. He shot down every single last seabird he could find. I'm sure he wishes he could cast _Death and Decay_ so he could have made it even more enjoyable. Then, Keever and Illidan are both fanatically passionate about anything they learn to care about. Nathanos doesn't care in the first place." Zul'vii paused, lifting a brow and chuckling.

"You make me wonder more and more why it is that I know, for absolute certain, you'd throttle me if I hadn't healed him."

"Zul'vii, its' really quite simple. Keever and Illidan have no sense of humor." The half troll blinked and then burst out laughing.

"How are you feeling?" she asked after having a good chuckle.

"Better. Although the specter is currently dismembering Nathanos…" She was looking at the Ranger Lord with a sort of fascination, evidently seeing something gruesome. "Well… That's nice… The priests haven't been able to figure out the curse on you yet. They're still researching."

"Why did the crusade save me?"

"Good question. I suggest asking them. Or him," she said, gesturing at Nathanos. "You should rest a bit more. I'll come and bring you some dinner in a few hours." The Half Elemental sighed and nodded, though she did not immediately lie down, merely lowering her head and then wincing, shutting her eyes. It took a long… long moment for Nathanos to speak.

"What do you hear?"

"Him speaking. He's much like you in how much he accuses me of my wrongs. It's a good thing I've had you to listen to for the past few years, else I wouldn't be so used to it." She winced. "And more disturbing things. Cries of agony, sounds of ripping flesh and gurgling blood. … How will I know you from what the Specter shows me?"

"… Are there any senses in which it can't reach you?"

"… It can't touch me."

A delicate hand slowly rested on her head.

"How much can it make up?"

"… it can't block out what's actually happening all that well."

"How do you know?"

"Until I fainted at the gorge, I was almost blinded by the images and sounds, but I could still vaguely see what was real past it, and I could still hear everything the Scarlet Crusade said."

"How many of them have you killed now? Isn't it strange they let you in?" Her head jerked up and she stared at him, blinking. He was there, and he tilted his head to the side, before shaking his head.

"What did you hear?"

"… You. What's the last thing you said?"

"I haven't said a thing." Her whole body almost convulsed before she glared at him.

"That is not true," she said weakly, her face tensing up. "If you hadn't asked what I'd heard in the first place, you wouldn't have been able to learn that I worried about not being able to tell the specter and you apart, and so you wouldn't have asked what I heard when I looked up at you." A smile graced his features. So much like Arthas's…

"Oh? How do you know what you're hearing is me? And that you're not just talking mindlessly to a specter?"

"Your cloak hem is brushing against my side, and it moves every time you tilt your head to the side." He smiled, gently stroking her hair, and it again reassured her that she had guessed right.

"Yes, I asked how many you had killed." Her eyes closed tightly.

"Just to upset me, when I'm already hearing and seeing things that aren't there."

"Hmm. Perhaps you should have chosen a better subject to be your ally," he murmured with a bit of mirthful cruelty.

"I protected your mind." He smiled darkly, looking down at her.

"I will protect yours," he assured. "As much as the idea has appeal, I do not want to share the glory of driving you mad."

"You'd be rid of me for good."

"I'd be rid of you for good if snapped your neck- something I am quite capable of doing."

"Yet you don't. You hate me so much, and still you don't. Why?" He stiffened, and before he could allow that question to upset himself, Ketala sighed and lowered her head.

"So as far as we know, I tried to guilt him into leaving me alone."

"… And, apparently, it worked." Ketala shook her head and looked up at him.

"What happened physically?"

"You writhed as I fought off his minions. When Arthas himself came at me, your eyes changed to red and you got up and charged into the fray. It seems that your body and mind separated, each doing something different." She nodded, things starting to make sense.

"And then?"

"He backed off and allowed his minions to fight. You fought a powerful abomination to the end of a cliff, and then went over the side with it, and I managed to catch you."

"Your wound… were you hit by Frostmourne?"

"No."

"… That still does not explain why there is a specter of Arthas following me around that only I can see."

"Your eyes give the sensation of pulling one's soul in and examining it from every angle. Perhaps, in a similar fashion, while you were fighting you sorted through Arthas's memories, but a part of his mind was trapped within your own."

"So I am not so much cursed as I am currently still locked in mental combat with Arthas? And currently still tied to him, with a piece of him inside me?"

"Something like that." Ketala fell silent and then looked over at the specter. It was currently behaving itself, just sitting and sharpening its rune blade. She arched a brow. "How is it you knew what Arthas said to Tichondrius?"

"My ghouls remember it. And you?"

"I was one of the ghouls who remembered it."

"Nathanos, how long did you hold me from falling over that cliff?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Because you were soaked with blood. Undead bleed very sluggishly, due to the fact that blood is either still in their veins, or very slow and moved only by traces of the magic that animates them." He merely shrugged and she sighed, standing slowly.

"Zul'vii told you to rest."

"I do not want to be alone with nothing but a specter that can show or say anything it pleases." She returned, shivering weakly. The specter's first appearance had been hard on her, for whatever reason, and although her body exhibited no signs of fatigue, her mind was tired. Perhaps adrenaline had been keeping her mind running in the gorge, but after she had seen the specter, the adrenaline had run out. Now her head was sore and tired. In a moment of vertigo, she stumbled. Nathanos did not make any move to catch her- in fact, he seemed to be enjoying her mental weariness. She only managed to keep her feet for a few seconds before collapsing, fainting dead away on the spot. Zul'vii was right, Ketala needed rest. Still, before she lost consciousness, she reminded herself that she still had no idea why the Scarlet Crusade had so benevolently taken her in, and she had just a moment more of though to remember why she had felt so strongly that her bizarre, angelic gift of Compassion was the only was to challenge Arthas's domination of mental combat.

Nathanos and Uther were right. Her faded, golden eyes had closed, her senses oblivious to anything but the hostile mind attacking hers. She had wiped her memories away, forsaking the fear that had inspired her cowardice when fighting the Scarlet Crusade… the fear that had caused her to fall so easily beneath Arthas's attacks. Arthas didn't want to be saved, did he? Arthas couldn't be pitied? Arthas had no care for love?

Well neither did Kel'Thuzad. Neither did Nathanos. And it was clear for all to see that those were the two who were always there to rescue her.

Somehow, she had reached them. It only logically followed that somehow she could reach Arthas.

Cliché. Storybook. Childish.

Strangely, it fit. Fate has a way of loving irony.

* * *

Nathanos Blightcaller gazed down at Ketala's unconcious form for a long moment, his hawkish, brown eyes regarding the movements of her torso as she breathed softly. The specter neared her and Nathanos absently waved one of his enchanted axes at it, the magical weapon driving the small blip of darkness energy. It did not look like Arthas to him, but he was sure it could only further upset the Half-Elemental girl. He paused. There was the sound of leather stretching as he clenched his other, empty hand. After a moment, the clenching of the hand lessened and the ranger knelt, gently pulling the blankets around her and tucking her in. Thrash would be back fromgetting some food soon. The Lynx had not been out for long, but it had missed its master's small period of conciousness. When it returned, its body heat would comfort the girl.

The Ranger's delicate fingers moved forward, pulling hair back from her face and then clenching. After a moment, he stood up quickly and stalked out, unleashing hisfrustration and hateon an unfortunate tree. There was not much of a tree left when his axes had finished with it, and freezing sap soaked the ground.

* * *

Well there we go. I told you it would be exactly what Ketala would do. Frankly, I thought it quite fitting, but I'm going to make fun of it anyway just so I can sound like I'm cool. Woops, did I say that out loud? That was supposed to be in my thought bubble -Blush-

This chapter leaves us on a hopeful note, that a wonderful marysue shall emerge and conquer everyone with happy pink bunnies,but, as we know, it has to go all downhill from here. Oh come on. Sure it is the perfect, poetically ironic end, but everything's just going too smoothly.You know that!

This was a... unique chapter. Hopefully you weren't confused beyond your wildest dreams.

If you were confused on the last chapter, the standard was _Italics is Telepathy. Italics is ALWAYS Telepathy_ **Bold is Flashback **Due to complications beyond my control, Arthas has stopped talking in Bold Italics, and has begun the process of talking in normal print. Also, at the end when someone speaks to Ketala reassuringly, Ketala is not currently conciouss of who is speaking. If you really must know, it is Nathanos.

Someone asked what's the deal with how ARthas and Ner'zhul are situated in this fic. ARthas and Ner'zhul are currently waltzing around Northrend, both kind of fused into one mind inside Arthas's body. At times, one or the other is more prevelant and powerful a presence. At others, they're both on the same level, and are equally present. He is refered to as Ner'Zhul, Arthas, and the Lich King alternativly.

Happy Newyears! I love you all!

**Yarg! Review or I shall not update! **


	35. Family

Hey Guys! Whoa, that was a massive, massive downtime! Oh well, I do have presents for you in respect for Valentines day! In art, I'm doing a concentration (a sequence of art all featuring the same subject) My subject? Ketala and Nathanos! I'm drawing a bunch of action pics and such. The one I'm working on right now is very nice. When I eventually finish, I'll put them online so you guys can see them. Right now, I'm also working on a small comic about our three angels and valentines day. I hope I'll be able to update and get these comics to you soon, but who knows? I'm a lazy bum. But I promise I wont give up! As long as there are people out there reading, I SHALL UPDATE!

(eventually)

_:Blink:_

_:Falls down on knees and begs fans for forgiveness:_ PLEASE FORGIVE ME! IM SO SORRY FOR NOT UPDATING! IM A BADDDD PERSONNNN:_Sniffle:_

I love you all! Please review!

* * *

**_Family_**

* * *

Outland  
(Right after the attack on Northrend (Past))

Zul'vii had not been surprised to see Illidan at the Frozen Throne. She had not been surprised when he had rushed in to Ice Crown to defend her. However, she had been shocked. While a part of her mind rationally knew Illidan would follow her, she had never truly accepted the fact that he would be there. In fact, none ofher grouphad been behaving very rationally. The attack on Icecrownhad been a blunder. The whole movement across Northrend had seemed wrong and overly lucky. Too fast. They had prepared endlessly, yet had met no real resistance. Still, a constant pull had yanked them forward. Because of it, they had lost Sylvanis to the Lich King. Zul'vii had not been surprised that Arthas had been prepared to handle them, and she was not surprised to have seen Illidan, but both events had shocked her.

Once they had escaped through the portal after the fight with Arthas, Nathanos dragging Ketala through behind them, Illidan had shut the portal and collapsed into unconscious. This had left them stranded in a certain location- a location Zul'vii's parents knew well, and hated above all others.

"Outland?" came her father's moan, and the mental image of him slapping a hand to his forehead. "I had hoped never to see this foul place ever again!" Zul'vii smiled in return to Zul'jin's quote, and shook her head.

"Well, technically, you aren't seeing anything; I am."

"This is where we were trapped," Myev, her mother, put in after a moment. "We died because of this place."

"You became life partners here, and you had me here." The two were quiet for a bit as Zul'vii quickly checked Illidan's pulse. He was fine, if cold. She then turned to Nathanos, moving swiftly over to him and kneeling by Ketala. Unlike Illidan, Ketala had no pulse, and the temperature of her body was normally almost as cold as the environment around it. However, after locating the wound in Ketala's chest, and noting that the wounded tissue was glowing warm, yellow gold, the half- troll sighed in relief. There could be no doubt that Ketala still lived. The angel of healing placed her hand over the gold, releasing her healing energy into it. White light mixed with gold, shining brilliantly as skin and muscle crept up to cover it, and the wound healed.

Satisfied that Ketala would be alright, Zul'vii looked up at Nathanos. The necromantic magics had twisted his face, turning his maws into a thick vice of fangs, and his fingers had lengthened and become more pointed. However, his wounds were all sealing due to undead regeneration, and so Zul'vii could presume he would be alright. A quick look around told Zul'vii that Keever and Mahi had also managed to follow them, though Zul'vii had no idea if they had gone through the portal, or if Mahi had teleported after them. MahiMahi was currently cradling her champion in her arms, and the mild electrocution hadn't seemed to have any lasting effects on poor Keever. Sighing in relief, Zul'vii turned and scrambled back over to Illidan. She took a lingering look around, just to make sure everything was alright.

Nathanos was just standing silently near Ketala. The intelligence had returned to his eyes, and he gazed down at Ketala without making a noise, his hands clenched tightly. For a moment, the Angel of Healing paused to regard him, and wondered what good Ketala could possibly see in him. Then she turned back to Illidan and sighed, gazing down at the wound in his chest. Frostmourne's mark had accentuated, and was now a thick, mottled blue stripe in Illidan's lavender skin. It must have taken everything in the poor demonhunter to open that portal. She sighed and shook her head at her mammoth demonic friend, before crawling up onto one of his wings and laying her hands over the wound in his chest.

"You shouldn't have come. You should have stayed behind," was all she said, and she laid her cream green cheek upon her arms, and dozed off, rocked to sleep by the rising and falling of his chest as he breathed. She stirred, later on, by the feeling of his arms draping weakly around her, but the comforting embrace just lulled her back into slumber. Illidan, on the other hand, just gazed at her blindly, reassured by the streaking, white radiance that filled his vision.

She was dreaming. He could see the ghosts of images spinning around in her head, and he could see the two lights that he had come to assossiate with her parents. They were twining with the dream just as she was- they were all sharing the same dream; they were all sharing a dream made of collected memories. Judging by the darkness of the whirling shapes, it was not a plesant dream.

He was not wrong. Zul'vii dreamed of a place of endless fire and yet endless darkness. She dreamt of her parents, huddled protectivly around her. She dreamt of their blood, running down in the space where their bodies met. She dreamt- or rather remembered- their blood splattering down on her face. The hot, irony smell of blood. A wift of sulfur. Cruel, cruel, harsh voices...

Zul'vii remembered her father kissing her tenderly on the forehead. She remembered her mother wrapping her wings protectivly around her, to ward off the monsterous voices. The elf angel- Myev- her mother... The Elf angel spoke words softly, tenderly...

And then, suddenly, her parents were gone. For a moment, she felt the sensation of being hurled across time and space, like a teleport spell from a place no teleport was ever made for. And then she was suddenly in the arms of a startled island troll. Zul'vii had looked up and beheld the face of her cousin for the first time, and Vol'jin stared back down at her in surprize.

The nature of the Twisting Nether is very chaotic. Due to this, a teleportation from it, without a proper portal, can result in any one of many various things. First of all, if the person is a being of extreme power (like a demon, or angel (which Zul'vii was) the most common occurance when teleporting out of the Twisting Nether is be violently repulsed by the barriers of the Nether. Another common happening is for a person to be ripped apart and strewn across time and space. Very, very rarely, a person can teleport properly intoa world, but it is impossible to know where or in what time that person will pop up. Generally, it is someplace unplesant. Examples of these unplesant places can be into a brick wall (which results in death), underwater, or midair hurtling down into a volcano.

Somehow, Zul'vii had not only successfully teleported from the Twisting Nether, but she had ended up in the exact right place (her cousin's arms) at the exact right time (early enough that she could grow up to save Illidan).

The half troll's parents couldnot provide a detailed explanation for why the teleportation had met with such perfect results. The only thing that was certain was that no one could have attributed the teleportation to pure coincidence. This meant that somone, somehow, had saved her and brought her to that precise location.

* * *

Icecrown  
(Present, after Arthas surprizes Ketala in the forest)

The Lich King stumbled into the sanctuary of his throne room. Yes, stumbled. Unlike Ketala, he had not remained conscious due to adrenaline, but instead due to pure force of unyielding will. However, such will came at the price of neglected attention to other parts of the body, and so while the Lich King remained conscious, he, in fact, stumbled. It was a small thing, a light misplacement of a foot that caused a hair's breath of a lurch, but it was weakness all the same. The DreadLord awaited its newest master, bowing low as Arthas returned…

But the perceptive demon noticed the slight stumble. The slight crack in the Lich King's perfect control. He knew immediately that his new Master's 'meeting' with Ketala had not went well, and so he wisely refrained from asking about it. The Lich King ignored him, his gait smoothing out into the dark, haughty step of a being of great power. He reached his throne and remained there, sitting, silent and in deep contemplation. Again, The Dreadlord wisely did not rise from its subservient bow.

The Lich King was no fool. He knew full well that things were not going well in the ranks of his enemy. The Crusade and Forsaken were fighting. More often then not, they would reach a battlefield only to turn on one another. It was one of his enemy's weaknesses. The fleets of Theramore were humbled- but not content -under the direction of one long-dead Admiral Daelin Proudmoore. Sylvanis was currently a prisoner of war. Ketala Truae was wounded and currently hallucinating due to a piece of he, the Lich King, that remained in her mind. Jaina was rescued. The Orcs and Humans were cooperating, but only begrudgingly. Ah yes, that was the key.

The lack of Humans forces from Stormwind made the orcish horde the strongest faction of the Lich King's enemies. If only somehow they could be sent home, the rest of the forces left in Northrend would collapse into squabbling. But what? If the Horde had stayed resolutely beside its human allies, even after the rescue of the human leader, then it would take some hefty Ace of the Lich King's to turn the orcs back.

Fortunately, Ner'zhul had once been an orc.

_Varimathras,_ the Lich King's mind thundered.

"I am yours to command, my lord," was the Dreadlords's reply. The Lich King's cold, cyan, warped eyes settled on the demon, and Frostmourne twitched. The soul of a banshee screamed its way out from the depths of the blade and was hurled across the room towards the demon. The banshee remains of the elfish woman skidded and rolled on the ground, and finally ended up a moaning, screaming, cursing mass at Varimathras's hoofed feet.

_In the morning, you will deliver a message to the Orcish Horde. You are to arrive by daylight with a peace flag raised._ The demon almost protested, but caught himself before he opened his mouth. After a moment, he said,

"Of course, my lord."

For now, however, he had been given a plaything. The banshee that lay before the kneeling demon, so close and so helplessly furious, was the Dreadlord's to toy with. As Varimathras gazed down at Sylvanis, watching her struggle to push herself up, the demon was filled with a deep sense of satisfaction. He had waited a long time to repay a few debts to Sylvanis. In the matter concerning the shortening of one of his horns, Varimathras wondered if Sylvanis would accept the shortening of one of her ears as payment.

The Lich King, however, twirled the Doomhammer effortlessly between his fingers. As always, he had a plan. His will stretched out to his minions, and his minions obeyed. The undead lord barely took notice of Varimathras's skill in torture. As Sylvanis screamed in agony, the Lich King merely took mental note of how eliciting her pain-filled cries bred a deep sense of satisfaction and self-importance in the Dreadlord. Varimathras was turning out to be an easily controllable pawn. His needs were simply and easy to satisfy. Varimathras wanted only two basic things in life: to survive, and to cause others pain.

For the sake of irony, it may be amusing to note that those two basic needs applied to one other character in this tale: Nathanos Blightcaller.

As the Lich King waited, directing his minions with cunning precision, he refrained from watching the golden, blazing figure at the edge of his vision. It was seldom outright in front of him. If he turned his eyes to look at it, it would vanish. It was always there, in the corners of his vision, watching him. In some way, that made it all the more effective. It stood there, a silent witness to sin and death. It did not speak- it did not have to. It was merely there, watching him, golden eyes whirling, disturbing the cold and dead peace of the icy throne room. It stood and bore witness to Varimathras's torment of Sylvanis Whisperwind's ghost, and it bore witness to every thought that passed through the Lich King's mind.

* * *

Outland  
(Back to the Past again)

MahiMahi held Keever tightly, watching Zul'vii curl up against Illidan, her healing energy seeping into him. The half-troll had shaken off the lightning bolt Thrall had shot at her very quickly, but Keever was still suffering its effects. Only his enchanted armor had prevented the blast from killing him. Still, the orc Warchief had done right. Keever was alright… And Zul'vii, and Illidan, and Jaina, and Nathanos… Even Ketala was alright

But not Sylvanis… And now the question remained: what were they to do now? Did they have the time and resources to continue the assault on Northrend? Did they have the strength? Or would this entire alliance crumble? It was unlikely it would hold together much longer. It had been too hasty, and too erratically assembled. Without Sylvanis to hold the Forsaken in check, there would be more conflict between the undead and the Scarlet Crusade…

And how was Thrall to keep the support of his people in this war? Jaina was safe, and the orcish people suffered while the army was away.

No, surmised Mahi, they would not be able to remain in Northrend. The war effort would crumble, one way or another. Arthas had escaped death once again. And what good had come out of it? It had strengthened the bonds between Theramore and Orgrimmar… It had weakened the Scourge… But the other factions had gained nothing. The Forsaken had lost all semblance of leadership, and both they and the Scarlet Crusade would feel betrayed once the war effort crumbled. Had this assault on Northrend served no other purpose then to save Jaina Proudmoore and to cause further conflict in Tristfall and the Plaguelands?

Mahi shifted a hand, gently pulling the helmet from Keever's face, and she lowered her face to his, tenderly kissing his temple. He shifted lightly, his one good eye gaining focus and turning towards her, indicating he had shifted back into consciousness. Mahi smiled, nuzzling her cheek gently against the undead's, folding her wings carefully around him. He was still a moment, mustering the energy to move, and then he jerked lightly, lifting his head lightly. Though he, as always, had no lower jaw to properly kiss her with, he touched his upper lip tenderly to her cheek, and held his head up for a bit.

"Mahi…" he murmured. She cupped one hand under his head, holding it up, and turned her lips to his. "Keever… loves you…" he said weakly, trembling under the kiss.

MahiMahi, Hyjuori by name, thought nothing more of Hordes, Alliances, or Crusades. All thoughts of war or peace whirled into nothing, all light and darkness melted, and all thought and feeling pointed out one final and unchanging notion- her Champion- her Companion- loved her. For the moment, that was good enough. That was all that really mattered; all that had ever really mattered.

* * *

Northrend  
(Back to the Present again)

As the Lich King surmised, things were not going well in the ranks of his enemies. The Forsaken, without Varimathras or Sylvanis to lead them, were vastly disorganized and unsupervised. While their military tactics never faltered, more daggers began to appear in the backs of humans. Despite their lack of any leadership whatsoever, they were certainly not going to fall back on Apothecary Lydon for leadership. He wasn't even sane by _undead _standards.

So, naturally, the task of ruling the Forsaken fell to Sylvanis's Champion, one of the highest members of undead hierarchy: Nathanos Blightcaller.

Peace was doomed.

Fortunately, he did not know of his sudden elevation in position yet. Instead, he was standing close behind Ketala Truae as she spoke with the leader of the Crusade band that had so generously picked her up and brought her back to his base unharmed. The Scarlet Crusader told her that he had brought her back when he had seen her react to the curse by channeling holy light through herself, as if attempting to purify or purge herself. The fact that the energy did nothing to harm Ketala only added to the image. Ketala was just about to ask why he had also spared Nathanos when she noticed the guards behind the leader glaring with full hatred not _at_ her, but instead _behind _her. She blinked and then twirled around and cuffed Nathanos over the head.

"Stop that!" she insisted as he grunted and chuckled. "Could you please save your evil glares of sadism for another day, and a less friendly group of Scarlet Crusaders?"

"I figured that I should waste them on the friendly ones, as only unfriendly groups would attack me when glared at. If I saved all my glares for unfriendly crusaders, why, I'd incur infighting," he said innocuously. Ketala stared at him a long moment. Then she shrugged and turned back to the leader.

"I'm rather sure that when I first encountered you, I added to the list of Blightcaller's injuries the malady of being idiotic." A small, small smile twitched at the corner of the Crusader's mouth. "I don't know why you spared him, and I suppose it is not necessary that I know. However, I am unendingly grateful. Blightcaller is my closest friend and I apologize for him. Death isn't a very pleasant thing, especially when you wake up again after you've died. He copes by being the way he is."

The Scarlet Crusader had that noble and upright bearing that all paladins should possess. In fact, he was a perfect stereotypical model for all paladins to follow. He was around six feet in height, give or take an inch or so. His face was well-built; neither chiseled and hard, or slender and elfish. Instead it was kindly and merciful, but honorable and proud. A human face- the face of a knight. He did not have stereotypically blond hair- in fact, it was black. Rather than being well-kept, his hair was slick with grease and dappled lightly with blood; The messiness was the sign of a true warrior, a warrior who put the lives and comfort of his men above his own life and comfort. The red of his armor was brown with dirt, and the gold was dulled and unpolished. Still, it seemed much greater then the uniforms of the guards behind him. Their armor represented hatred and arrogance. His represented blood willingly shed in defense of innocence, and the holy light that would unhesitantly come to his defense.

Ketala had no idea where this Scarlet Crusader had come from. She had not seen him at Hearthglenn, which meant that he had arrived later, or that he had been recruited from the forces at Tyr's Hand. This man was a rarity among Scarlet Crusaders. This was a man who had seen the horrors of the Scourge, who had lost everything dear to him, who had been taking in by the most vile and hateful of all humans, and who had been brainwashed for years with nothing but stories of vengeance… This was a man who had borne all this… and_ survived…_Throughout all his life, he had maintained his morals of good and evil, even though he had sworn allegiance to this group of fanatics. He was a precious rarity, and Ketala came to the conclusion- quite quickly- that this man was good and trustworthy. Now, he concentrated fully on Ketala, and there was no hatred in his face.

"I am told you still follow the Silver Hand," he said.

"That is true."

"How is it you came to become a paladin of that sect?"

"I was raised by the lich Kel'Thuzad, and killed shortly after I reached maturity, brought back to life as an undead." The Scarlet Crusader's eyes widened. "I was left with my free will- just as the Forsaken are, because I have innate powers that work because of _who_ I am, and would cease to work if my emotions and soul were suppressed. One day, I was helping direct undead hunt down and kill humans that were fleeing from a battle. When I focused on my surroundings again, I noticed that there was a Priest of the Light on the ground, dying slowly. I asked him about the symbol on his tabard, and then killed him quickly and butchered his remains till there was nothing left, and no necromancer could desecrate his body. I memorized the symbol.

"Kel'Thuzad had something of an epiphany and commanded me to leave, and to never heed his command again. I traveled all the say south from the Plaguelands, towards Stormwind. I helped humans on my way, saving them from a massive group of Abominations. I reversed several banshee possessions… I've always been able to channel spiritual energy through my blades. Pure Holy flame, from priests who never experiment with the arcane, heals me rather then burns. Due to these circumstances, I was taken in by the Paladins remaining left in Stormwind, and was given instruction as a Paladin."

The wide-eyed, hungry look on the poor Crusader's face showed a starvation for information. Ketala was not surprised when she realized that the Crusader had very little knowledge of the outside world. It was very possible that, until quite recently, he hadn't even known that Paladins of the Order of the Silver Hand still existed, or that Stormwind still stood. Perhaps he had heard vague rumors about a new continent. About a certain Miss Jaina Proudmoore who had left to find a new continent. That was it; The Crusader's entire world had become the defense of Hearthglenn and the slaughtering of Scourge. It was not difficult to imagine: Before Ketala had met them, the Argent Dawn and Light Hope's Chapel hadn't even known that Lordaeron had fallen. The meeting of all these factions had done more good then anyone could possibly know. It gave them hope, and a link to the rest of the world. It gave this poor Crusader hope in the realization that the whole world wasn't an undead wasteland.

Ketala merely smiled. "Stormwind still stands, as proud as it ever did, and though the Order of the Silver Hand was struck a mighty and powerful blow, it still stands as well. So long as I live, I will not let the Silver Hand die."

"You don't wear the tabard…" he reflected after a moment. She blinked and then a smile spread over her face.

"I don't!" She laughed. "I never thought of that before! Hahaha! Oh, I left Stormwind early. I simply did not fit in there. I did complete my training… but I never received a tabard." She pushed her cloak aside, tapping her breastplate. "I have the insignia etched into my armor, though. My last breastplate was ruined, but I made sure this new one bore the sign of the silver hand.." He stared for a moment, a bit startled by hearing an undead laugh so melodiously.

"Many wonder about that. What exactly happened in Icecrown?" he questioned after a moment.

"… Arthas stabbed me… with Frostmourne…" she said slowly, watching the Crusader's eyes reach a new degree of wideness. "From what anyone can tell, holy energy thrust the blade from my body… because my soul suffered no damage… However, the armor was ruined, and I had to have it replaced." The Crusader and his two guards were silent, staring at her. "Nathanos was the one who witnessed it. He surmised that Frostmourn's evil was repulsed because I am supposedly anglic, and because of the strength of my faith. A person could argue that Uther resisted the blade as well. He died, yes, but his body remains properly in its grave. Frostmourne did not steal his soul, and Arthas's taint never reached him."

"How could you know?"

"Uther is buried near Andorhal. I visit his grave often to meditate. Around it, the land is green and alive, and no undead can get anywhere near it. It is undoubtedly my favorite spot in the world."

"You are undead." Ketala blinked and smiled.

"But I'm a paladin of the Silver Hand. When it comes to holy magic, I might as well be alive. The only trait I do not share with you is the fact that you have a heartbeat. I do not. However, I should probably get back to my undead. I've nearly been killed so many times in the recent past, that it's a wonder they've not all had ulcers from stress."

"… They worry for you?"

"I am all they have in the world. Most of them can barely recall their own names yet, but they all know my touch. I should return to them." The Half-elemental lowered her head in a light bow. "I am eternally grateful for your aid…" she said, lifting the end of the statement so that it became a question.

"Fordring," he said in reply to her implied question. "Taelin Fordring."

The Scarlet Crusader had the strangest sensation that Blightcaller was looking at him jealously.

* * *

(Cont.)

It was around a quarter of the way back to her base, with Thrash charging to meet them halfway, that Ketala whirled and stared at Nathanos. She looked him up and down, squinted her eyes, and then frowned.

"… Your other hound…" Nathanos looked at her and chuckled lightly. "… It's dead, isn't it?"

"It went over the cliff, much like you almost did."

"… I think we need to find you some new pets, Nathanos." He just grinned, and kept walking, and she followed. Idly, she wondered if Nathanos would like a Frostwyrm. On second thought, however, it did not seem his style. Nathanos was fast and quick, relying on skill as opposed to massive gouts of icy breath. Perhaps he would raise two fallen Frostwolves and enrage the entire Orcish Horde against him, since he seemed so fond of dogs. The death of his hounds would torment him some time or another. Nathanos had, in a warped and twisted way, adored his two prized hounds. Perhaps-

Two days later, Nathanos Blightcaller stood before Ketala with a reanimated bunny rabbit that he had dyed pink, a rabbit that was currently drooling puss. Ketala took one look at him, screwed up her face, and then burst out laughing, having to lean on an abomination to keep from falling over. When she had finished, she just grinned at him. "That would be perfect! Get Lydon to make it part ghoul, with giant teeth, razor claws-!"

Ketala's approval sealed it. Nathanos stubbornly refused to have anything to do with a legion of reanimated evil pink bunnies. His plans had been thwarted by her acceptance… for now.

* * *

Orc Camp - Northrend

Thrall sighed, looking back at Northrend regretfully, and then looking out at the ships of the Orcish fleet. Around a third of the fleet had already departed and was waiting out mid water. The other two thirds were still packing up- Thrall's flagship among them. The sight of the ships leaving caused a pained look to cross Thrall's face. Leaving this field of battle was not appealing for him, and despite the fact that this had never been his conflict, and that he had achieved all that he could possibly achieve. It felt dishonorable. It felt cowardly.

But Thrall had asked all his advisors. All of them had conceded that leaving Northrend, and instead taking up battle alongside the druids and bronze dragons in Sithilis was a good move. Northrend was not their fight. They had come to help an ally. That ally had been aided. Now it was time to turn their attention to some place where their attention actually belonged. Perhaps if a truce could be written with the humans, they could return and wipe the undead Scourge off the face of Azeroth.

Even Drek'Thar had advised leaving. Thrall always trusted the blind Far'seer. Still, the Warchief's proud shoulders drooped considerably, and he thought furiously for some excuse not to leave. His eyes turned down to the Doomhammer, hanging loosely in his grip, and he could not help wondering if it was worth it to leave.

A small hand touched one of his powerful shoulders, and he turned his head, looking down at Jaina Proudmoore, and feeling even more wretched.

"Miss Proudmoore…" he said in greeting and then, feeling he needed to explain himself to her, to ensure her image of him was not sullied, he said, "This obligation to leave-"

"I know, Thrall," she said quite simply. "I understand. I'm only sorry that this situation won't be resolved yet… And that the Scourge will not yet be defeated." He winced, looking down in shame. Still, the forgiveness of the small human sorceress eased his burden a little. "My fleets are leaving these shores soon after yours. We need to get back to Theramore. My kingdom has endured instability for too long. In the meantime, I will rally all the support I can for the war in Sithilis." The orc nodded. On an impulse, he blinked at the Doomhammer, and then turned, lifting the weapon and offering it to the sorcerer. She blinked, eyeing the weapon up and down, before looking at him again.

"Take the Doomhammer… as a symbol of the Horde's desire for peace with the Alliance."

"Thrall-"

"The return of the Doomhammer is the symbol- the grand radiating symbol- of my people's inability to remain here in Northrend to fight this battle. Consider the gifting of the weapon as my promise to return here, in order to defeat Arthas and to properly earn it."

"But Thrall-"

"And think of the implications politically, Miss Proudmoore. I do not give the Doomhammer to you lightly. It was Orgrim's weapon against your people. Giving it to you- to the Alliance- freely, and ensuring that it will cause your people no more death, symbolizes my desire for peace. Perhaps it shall convince some of the rulers in Stormwind that an alliance with the Horde is possible-"

"Or perhaps they shall demand the Doomhammer from me, in order to destroy it."

"Our Alliance has survived through far more then threats to destroy weapons, Jaina Proudmoore. You know that better than I."

At his words, Jaina did glance over at the Theramore fleets, and at her father's flagship…

"Please take it." The sorceress looked up at the Warchief for a long, long moment. Then, slowly, she reached up and took the powerful weapon from his fingertips, feeling the lightness and strength of it, and the softness of its handle due to wear from usage. In return, however, what had she to give in return for this hammer? She had no such legendary artifact in her possession. Her staff was a powerful weapon, but it did not hold the value of the Doomhammer… She filed away mentally that she had to find- and find quickly- a suiting gift to repay the orc Warchief with.

Unfortunately, all she could do now for the poor orc was watch him turn away and lift a letter to his eyes. She knew what lay written on that parchment- the source of all their newest troubles. Written in that letter was every reason this rag-tag alliance of humans, orcs, and undead had to leave Northrend. With that letter had come the Doomhammer….

* * *

Flashback

Thrall had looked down at the kneeling Dreadlord with obvious disgust, and had been loathed to take the note from him. He could have sent the Dreadlord whining back to its master on all fours like a beast… He _should_ have had the demonic monster blasted out of the sky… But a white flag denoted that the demon had come in peace, and if Thrall was not honorable, he was nothing. However, even though the demon had come bearing the standard of peace, Thrall _should_ have sent it away immediately. There was only one reason why he _could_ not.

Varimathras had held the Doomhammer in one of his clawed hands. Reluctant, Thrall had taken the note, and opened it, only momentarily surprised to see it penned in orcish.

"You and I are not so unalike, save in one respect- how much we have suffered. Your people are not meant for the winter chill, and you know even now that conflicts are skyrocketing throughout your lands. The Burning Crusade summons lesser demons into our world every day, and the Burning Legion is most certainly our common enemy. Sithilis is overflowing with strange creatures that kill all they see, and time fluctuations and time carrion are running rampant throughout Azeroth and Kalimdor alike.

_"I know why you remain here to fight, in a war that is not your own, against an enemy who is more like you then you know. You preach that orcs should resist demons, and never give in to their power. Yet, somehow, you forget that the demons betrayed me because I would never give orc race to them. You forget I was tortured for an eternity, and that I was sent back to this ruined earth, broken and battered. You forget that I turned on them again once I arrived. You forget that I attacked the Alliance, and left the orcs in peace. No, young Warchief. We are not so different._

_"You are here to mend the gaps between humans and orcs, but you can see they are only widening due to the presence of the Scarlet Crusade. Scarlet Crusade… Burning Crusade… Do not they seem quite alike?_

_" I offer you an alternative. I offer you the hammer that is your rightful possession, weapon of the great Orgrim Doomhammer. I offer you war Sithilis as a grounds to forge peace with the Alliance, in exchange for giving up this battle with me. I offer a war that is yours to engage in, that your people will have no qualms participating in._

_"Take this weapon to keep your honor, and leave Northrend. Your people have more things to worry about, and they will not understand if you settle in to wage this war- a war that will last years. Wait until some of your other problems have mended first, and then perhaps we shall both meet one another again on more favorable grounds to battle._

_"To sweeten the offer, I give first my oath to leave Theramore Isle be. Second, I give the traitor who delivered Jaina Proudmoore into my hands- the Dreadlord Varimathras, who kneels before you."_

What choice had Thrall been given?

* * *

Overlooking the Orc Camp - Northrend

Illidan Stormrage frowned, gazing down at the camp as the green workers began running supplies in droves to the waiting orcish ships. His slender fingers clenched into fists, the tendons showing through the skin and the knuckles whitening. Apparently he was not discomforted by the over-long status of his claw-like nails, but his palms bled slightly. Zul'vii merely watched her friend as his lips curled into a snarl.

"They are leaving," he said at last, his voice bitter and harsh.

"Yes. Arthas gave Thrall every reason to leave, and stripped him of every reason to stay. Thrall is a leader, after all. He must do what is best for his people. And what is best for his people is to fight war in Sithilis, side by side with the Alliance," she replied softly.

"He should not let up! In a few years, Arthas could be overrun!"

"He has no choice, Illidan. Not everyone has a cult of fanatical magic-worshipers." She gazed out at the ships. "Think about it. If they can defeat the Sithilids and manage some semblance of peace with the Alliance, then they will have a reason to launch an assault against Arthas. But now, all the orcs can see are their own people suffering while their soldiers fight an enemy of the Alliance. Might I also mention that Ner'zhul was the shaman who did _not_ sacrifice his people to demons, and was tortured by the Burning Legion for a short eternity for his disobedience? And then he had the gall to fight against them again? Have you noticed the lack of Humans here? It would take the better part of a year for Stormwind and Ironforge to even work up the courage to begin a war effort against Arthas, to join the Forsaken and Horde. However, somehow the world has gotten riled up about the Sithilids. There is already an Alliance ambassador in Orgrimmar, already trying to get the Horde to join the war effort- and a dwarf, no less!" Illidan just snorted, whirling and glaring out at the snowy landscape behind them.

"… Try to understand, Illidan…" she said, looking at him and placing a hand on his violet arm. "Try to understand that Thrall merely understands how to rile up his people. It will take a more round-a-bout route, but he knows what he's doing."

"Yet he leaves Arthas be and lets him expand his empire once more!"

"Alone, we cannot remain in Northrend. The Lich King would probably overrun us considering half of our forces are gone."

"I will not leave," Illidan snarled, whirling on her. She blinked at him, and he paused, gazing blindly down at her face. "… And neither will the Forsaken," he said, trying to keep up his argument, but checking his temper. "The Orcs showed up to save a human, and cost them both of the Forsaken's leaders! They have gained nothing from this! In fact, with the Orcs leaving, they might just break off from the Horde altogether."

"You are wrong," she insisted.

"Oh?"

"Nathanos is intelligent, if mad. He understands that the Orcs will be back, and he understands very well the Forsaken's predicament. He will leave Northrend as well, favoring to cut off Arthas utterly from the Plaguelands rather then maintaining a foolish frontal assault on IceCrown itself."

Illidan frowned, but he understood the logic behind this. "What of the Scarlet Crusade? Will they halt in their quest for vengeance?"

"… They're a little harder to say… but I doubt you would want to remain here with no one but Ketala and the Crusade, and certain death awaiting you." Illidan frowned.

"What then?"

"First, I suggest we return to Felwood to decide what to do. Kael's ambitions have been sated- he's saved Jaina- and my followers would not find Felwood opposed to their tastes. We'll work from there."

"Go back to our homelands, as if this all never happened?"

"No, Illidan, in preparation, knowing that when the time comes, we will have enough allies to complete the task. Ketala, the Forsaken, the Argent Dawn, and The Scarlet Crusade will all work to keep the undead in check in the Plaguelands. But there is another evil that needs to be kept in check until the races of the world have time to turn their attention to it…"

"The demons…" Illidan said after a moment, voice low. "You would have us work to keep them in check while the forces of the world stamp out the evil in Sithilis." She nodded. "There are too few of us. We are working well with Felwood's problems, but there are many other places that we do not have enough forces to tend to… The Blasted Lands, the Searing Gorge... And then there are even more problems! The time blips going on in the Plaguelands…"

"Leave helping the Bronze Dragons in the Plaguelands to Ketala. I'm sure she can handle it. However, we do not need to "keep the demons in check" so much as we need to harass them so that they cannot do too much."

"What would you suggest?"

"Well… I am a rogue…" she began, slowly pulling out a dagger and twirling it between her fingers. "And you are rather skilled with sneaking, being an elf…"

"You want to begin working on taking out the more prominent demon leaders." Zul'vii merely smirked, giving a little flick and sending the dagger to balance on its point upon one of her fingers.

"That would be the general idea, yes." She smirked, flicking the dagger at him. He caught it nimbly, without even thinking and looked back at her. The white fire of her aura poured out around her, blending with the powerful, bright colors that outlined her, so that she was a cascade of brilliance and color in his vision. Even her eyes were highlighted with brighter whites, and shades of green and blue. She regarded him a moment, before coming up to him, within the sheltering spread of his dark wings. He grunted and turned his head to look down at the departing orcs, mumbling something in his unique, gravely, voice. That voice, as always, hinting at a mild note of what could be insanity or anger. Zul'vii just smiled. She lifted a hand and laid it on one of his arms, squeezing gently.

"What? Are you afraid that it shall give you a good reputation?" He lifted a violet brow and then snorted.

"I am merely thinking over my possible gains and my possible losses."

"Well, add one more to your list of gains and losses," she said, winking. "I'm going. Whether you go or not is your affair." He blinked and then scowled darkly, one of his hands clenching.

"… You say that, and yet you know that I will- for whatever reason- follow you." She smirked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Yes, I say that knowing you will probably follow. You think "Hey wait! That means she's manipulating me!" but you see, I have either two choices. I can stay here, or I can go. I want to go. I don't want to stay. So I go. I'm not going to force you into anything. It's purely your decision whether to follow me or not. You're the one who's going to follow me, you're the one who has to decide whether to follow me or not. You're perfectly healthy, and you don't need me anymore. Anything you do with regards to me is out of voluntary want, and not out of need. I have no responsibility or reason to remain here, except for your comfort. Do you think I'm the kind of person to wait here to cater on your every last whim?" Illidan glared, and she pecked him on the nose, a humorous little affection.

"I'm going. Are you coming?"

"No," he grit out with irritation. She just smiled further, and nodded.

"Fine then. I'll go, and then we'll find out who gets too lonely first." She turned, and walked off, and he glared after her, bristling with irritation and fury. "Although- Illidan?" she turned to him and smiled gently. "I'll miss you," she said in a kinder tone, her eyes brightening lightly. She turned, and continued walking.

Much like weeks before, Illidan found himself gazing out after Zul'vii's departing white glow; much like last time, he wanted to follow, to make sure she was safe…

It was only then that Illidan Stormrage remembered that Zul'vii had told him that she loved him. Much like last time, he just stared until her aura had passed from sight.

* * *

Northrend

"We must decide what to do quickly."

Ketala was the speaker. She was in a group of various leaders, including Nathanos, Jaina, Illidan, Kael, Vashj, Zul'vii, Daelin, Leonid Bartholomew the Revered from the Argent Dawn, and several Scarlet Crusaders.

"Even now, my flying units are reporting movement in IceCrown-" she continued.

"Because the orcs abandoned the fight, like the monstrous cowards they-"

"Hold your tongue, Crusader. None of our peoples can be taking this strain anymore," interrupted Zul'vii. The Crusader glared at her, but Ketala continued before a conflict could break out.

"Zul'vii is right. Hearthglen is nearly emptied of defenders, Tyr's Hand is too far from the Western Plaguelands to keep an accurate watch on Caer Darrow, and the Argent Dawn and Deathstalkers are extremely thinned out as well. The Theramore fleets are naval combatants and most useful on the shore- not on mountains." She turned and looked at the Scarlet Crusaders. "It will take too much out of us all to keep up this war at this time. The Orcs came to the aid of their allies- Miss Proudmoore and her men- but they cannot afford to fight this war without provocation. It would create unrest in the populace. It would be like asking the Scarlet Crusade to help rid the world of bandit naga. It's not their fight- at least, not yet." She paused a moment to give the Crusaders time to digest this information. "However, good may come of this. The joint effort in Sithilis is designed to spawn cooperation and friendly competition between the Alliance and Horde. If this works, the two factions will have a reason and the means to plan an all-out siege on Northrend. Ironforge, Sen'jin, Darnassus, Stormwind, Orgrimmar, Thunderbluff- all working together.

Even so, we cannot allow the Lich King to become strong in the time it takes the factions to work out their differences in Sithilis, and the demonic hordes are another concern that we have to think about."

At this point, Zul'vii spoke up. "Our base is stationed in Felwood, Kalimdor, an area rank with demonic activity. We're working to suppress it. With trade from the Goblins of Everlook and Night Elves and Tauran in Moonglade, and with Illidan's ability to generate portals, we'll be able to trade with the Scarlet Crusade, the Dawn, and with your people, Ketala. That is, we will be able to trade with the Scarlet Crusade if they continue to permit us," she said, turning her gaze to the red and gold-clad soldiers.

"And I," continued Ketala, "Will be able to launch an attack on Caer Darrow. As long as Scholomance continues to exist, this world is a fouler place. Arthas is the true enemy in all this, but if we can push his forces out of the Plaguelands, we will loosen his grip on the world, and he will lose his supply of fresh undead. Theramore cannot continue blockading the Plaguelands, but Jaina has agreed to send ship builders to Andorhal. This will give us trade with Brill and a link to the ocean, if we can get Southshore to let us through."

"What about Light's Hope Chapel?" inquired Leonid, Ketala's fellow undead paladin.

"Light's Hope Chapel was, when we left the Plaguelands, still untouched by the undead. However, we cannot assume it will remain that way, and we have no way of getting trade there, in any case. What if we left you in Quel'Thalas? The Elfin Homeland has been inaccessible since the coming of the Scourge and there is water on three sides of it, providing easy trade. However, it is very likely that elves survived in Quel'Thalas, and that the ancient elfin homeland is as torn as the Plaguelands. Would you be objected to staying there? We'll be able to provide you with supplies and trade." The undead paladin thought this over thoroughly, and finally nodded.

"I will need you, Ketala, and perhaps Ander and some of the other paladins, to help me sanctify a small location in Quel'Thalas then. Light's Hope Chapel was blessed, and we will need similar blessed ground in Quel'Thalas if we are to survive."

"I would gladly help," she said simply. "What about Tyr's Hand, though? It is extremely landlocked, but it is bordered exclusively by mountains. Could we use zeppelins and griffon riders to bring trade there?"

"We could," mused Zul'vii. "But once again, it's up to the Scarlet Crusade, and what they want. Perhaps they do not want our trade."

There was silence as every head turned toward the Scarlet Crusaders and regarded them thoughtfully.

Several days later, snow blew across the coasts of Northrend, quickly burying all signs that camps had ever been there. The shores of Northrend had been left to the dead.

* * *

On a Ship Belonging to Ketala's Undead

Ketala Truae lay snugly in her cot against the wall of the ship. There was a weight on top of her, pressing her down into the warm, soft blankets that lined the cot. A body- an undead ghoul- dressed in plate and mail. Its temple lay against her shoulder, a skeletal hand flung across her waist and latched tightly around her. The curve of the cot kept it pressed into its savior… its master…

Its mother.

Lachdan was the ghoul, and he shifted lightly. A moment later, he relaxed, feeling his savior's arms around him, one of her hands gently stroking through his hair. He felt his siblings' minds stir around him, and he felt his savior reach down to comfort one of them. The ghouls and shades were many. While a huge amount of them had packed themselves in the room in order to be near Ketala, even larger amounts were strewn about the ship elsewhere. They took turns being near their savior; they took turns watching over her. Many of them rested while in her presence, soaking in her compassionate aura and enjoying her comforting mind. Others stood stolidly throughout the night to ensure that nothing ill became of their beloved angel. As much as they enjoyed being anywhere near her, they were of the purest, simplest mentality. None of them were jealous of Lachdan, who was with Ketala every moment of every day (So long as she was not fighting). None were jealous of Ketala's favorite. They nuzzled against him all the same, enjoying his company almost as much as they enjoyed Ketala's. One day, they would regain their minds, their personalities, and their memories. Until then, however, they were her precious children. Perhaps next time they were mature, this second 'youth' would keep the shades from following paths of darkness… and the ghouls from falling to their enemies in battle.

The Half-Elemental smiled contently, leaning her cheek against Lachdan's. She could only pray that history would finally stop repeating itself, and that her precious Lachdan would not end up dead, like Eldiaren and Jerod.

Her mind cringed at the thought of the two ghouls she had lost, and Lachdan's eyes opened in response to her mental pain. He smiled gently at her, nuzzling affectionately against her to comfort her. Ketala smiled weakly, sighing softly out. Sometimes, even when she was unendingly happy, her sorrow and memories crept up on her. Perhaps the cause was the specter of Arthas, standing across the room, who was holding a hallucinated version of Jerod's head and absently tossing it into the air and impaling it on Frostmourne. He continued to do so, over and over again, until the head was entirely unrecognizable. Lachdan twitched, turning his head to look at the Specter and baring his teeth, revealing the fact that he was not fully healed. Those teeth were like the teeth of a shark in a mouth that was impossibly wide. They were triangular, overlapping, and inhuman. His savior reacted by wrapping her arms around his head, pulling him back against her, holding his face near hers. Lachdan blinked, gazing at her a moment and feeling her pain.

"Ketala…"

"There's nothing you can do. Don't think about it," she said, stroking the ghoul gently. His lips slid back over his teeth, hiding his inhuman mouth, and his eyes creased with worry.

"It's evil. It's hurting you."

"You can't stop it." The ghoul frowned. "Just calm. Stay with me," she murmured, leaning her cheek against his again. The ghoul hesitated a long moment, desperately wanted to relieve his mother of pain. However, Ketala was right. There was nothing he could do. All Lachdan could do to help Ketala was to try and comfort her, and so he snuggled up against her again. He had been so worried about her. The evil specter was a small price to pay for her survival.

* * *

On the Argent Dawn Ship

Leonid lifted up the small boy, smiling and shaking his head. "You need your sleep," he said, moving over to the hammock the leaned against the wall. "It is your bedtime."

"But!"

"Sleep," the undead paladin insisted tenderly, picking up the boy's legs and gently laying them in the hammock.

"But you're not going to bed!"

"I do not need to."

"I don't need to either!"

Leonid smiled. "Oh really?"

"Uh-huh!" the child proclaimed with solemn seriousness. His undead benefactor merely chuckled.

"I shall have to see proof that you do not! However, if I catch one sleepy yawn, you shall have to have a bedtime again."

"I won't yawn!" the boy say, his voice rising with excitement. "I don't need sleep!"

Leonid merely smiled, nodding, and set the boy back on the ground again. When Ketala had returned to Light's Hope Chapel bearing the little Scarlet Crusader boy, Leonid had not known what to think. He was relieved that more of the Scarlet Crusaders were dead, but one look at the boy reminded him of all he had lost. He could not help feeling like the monsters he strove to fight against. Thus, out of some guilt, out of some pity, and also out of some sheer benevolence (for you do not earn fancy titles like 'revered' or 'honored' without being a fairly decent fellow), Leonid had taken the boy in. The first few days, the child had been suffering from stress and terror. Leonid could have been mistaken for an organism reproducing by budding- that's how tightly the little child clung to him.

The first few weeks after that, however, Leonid had spent just trying to approach the child. As soon as the immediate panic had worn off, the boy had continuously tried to run away (which would have spelt sure death) and was always hiding from his undead caretaker. The undead paladin distinctly remembered one painful occurrence, when the boy had huddled crying near a human paladin, tears pour down his eyes as the undead had come near. The situation had worsened when Leonid had reached the boy, as the child had started screaming and crying and hyperventilating.

However, the boy slowly became used to Leonid. The undead had purchased a tent, a bed, toys, food, and heapings of blankets for the boy. He had tucked him in every night and healed his cuts and bruises from various outdoor escapades. He had let the boy pick out various tops and play swords and such, and devoted a small portion of each day to comforting and playing with him.

The Ex Scarlet Crusader child was named Ron. It had taken two months of Ron life to convince Leonid not to call him Ronald. Ron also made it a practice to forgo mentioning that it had taken those two months for Ron to refer to Leonid by anything other then "you", as in the you found in, "I hate you," "why wont you leave me alone," and "(insert age inappropriate swear here) you".

Soon after those two months, Leonid had quickly forbidden all insertions of age inappropriate swears. The relationship had grown from there. Now Leonid smiled, watching the boy run off and knowing that it would only take around half an hour for the child to realize the err of his sleep avoiding ways. The undead paladin followed the boy out of the room, watching over him as he dashed about the ship, played with toys, and snuck food from the kitchen. His undead guardian merely watched him, observing as the signs of weariness slowly started to appear, and smiling tenderly. When the boy could hardly keep his eyes open, Leonid came up to him and scooped him up, announced that he swore he had seen a yawn (When in fact he had seen at least a dozen) and carried him back to his bed. Ron made few protests, and was fast asleep before Leonid had even made it to the child's room. The undead set him in the hammock and gently laced it up so he would not fall out during the night. Then he craned over and kissed the boy gently on the forehead. He stood, blew out the lamp that was bolted into a ceiling corner of the room, and quietly closed the door on his way out.

Leonid had thought himself fortunate while fighting for the Argent Dawn, driving back the undead Scourge from the land with the strength of his faith alone. However, though that life had been filled with purpose, it had been strangely empty. It had been hollow… nostalgic… sorrowful… It had taken every last particle of his faith to keep going. But now that emptiness was filled. The undead paladin's being was whole. He might as well have been alive- just as Ketala might as well have been alive. In Ron, Leonid had found the only important thing that death had stripped him of: a family.

* * *

Please Review! 


	36. Trust and Dependance

Hey guys! Sorry for the long update, but you're reallllyyy gonna like this art comming up. I'm done with it, but here's the problem: Its too big to scan! I'm going to have to scan it in peices and then put it together. I'll try and get that done by the next update.

Also, there /was/ some jumping around in time in the last update! I forgot to let you know+blushes+

Listed by section  
Outland - Past  
Icecrown - Present  
Outland - Past  
Northrend till the end -Present

If I can ever get off my lazy butt, I'll lable them, and also fix the italics in the section titled "Flashbacks" The letter starts a paragraph earlier, but when I italicized the letter, I missed that paragraph! Its not italicized! CURSES!

* * *

_**Trust and Dependance**_

* * *

Argent Dawn Boat

To Ron, Ketala was death. She was the specter of Charon himself- the grim reaper. Her scimitars appeared as two arcing scythes in the boy's eyes. He was not frightened of her in the traditional sense of the word. Instead, he was morbidly terrified. Any time Ketala approached, he went still, just gazing at her with grave fascination. The boy had watched Ketala slaughter an entire tower of people, and had probably seen her kill his parents. To him, there was nothing in the world that represented death in a purer sense then Ketala. He couldn't even hate her, because he did not see her as a person, but instead as a concept. Instead, he gave her the quiet, helpless respect that all beings gave death.

Such was the case when Ketala came over to the Argent Dawn ship. She found Leonid finishing up the carving of a small wooden griffon, showing the little Scarlet Crusader boy the details on the feathers. When Ketala came up, the boy immediately went quiet, turning to stare at her. Inwardly, Ketala flinched. She did not like killing, as Lenoid well knew, and it was extremely hard on her to be viewed as a murderer or a manifestation of death. To make matters worse, the specter of Arthas was currently showing her the Scarlet Crusaders she had killed, their body parts strewn about the boy's feet.

The half-elemental breathed in deeply, gathering the strength to ignore the specter. Then she moved into the room, smiling as Leonid looked up at her. "Good morning Leonid. The boy is well?"

Leonid smiled and nodded, setting down the wooden griffon and standing up. "Lady Ketala, it's good to see you. To what do I owe this visit?"

"I must be brief, but could you please bring Ron up to the deck?" The male undead paladin blinked, but nodded.

"Of course. I shall be there in a moment." Ketala smiled and turned, heading back up from the bowls of the ship.

Ron breathed out in a weak sigh when Ketala left, but his mood immediately brightened when Leonid picked him up and tickled him. He laughed, fighting against the undead playfully, and the paladin laughed back, bearing the small child out of his room and up the stairs. When at last they reached the deck, the undead chuckled, setting the small boy down. The boy laughed, running a few steps away and then turning back towards his undead caretaker, smiling with childish delight. Leonid merely shook his head and looked around. He spotted Ketala, but blinked upon realizing that she was talking with three Scarlet Crusaders. Two of them were most certainly officials, but the third seemed to be a low-ranking priest…

"Ron?"

The little boy blinked, looking around to see who had called his name. The speaker was behind him, a few yards away. She was a low-ranking Scarlet Crusader- a priest- draped in reds and golds, and she was looking down at the boy with an expression between hope and amazement. "Randald Meruwin?" The boy blinked, and then his eyes widened."

"Aunt Lisa?"

Immediately, the woman's face lit up. "Ron! Oh Ron-" she said, dashing forward. The little boy only got to take a few steps toward her, and then he was swept up in a hug. "Oh Ron, we thought we lost you with your- oh it doesn't matter- you're alright!" The boy said nothing, clinging to her mutely and unable to resist the tidal wave of emotions that assaulted him. "Oh, you poor thing; are you okay?" she inquired in a softer tone, pulling the boy back an inch and stroking hair out of his face, trying to get a good look at him.

"I'm okay…"

"We'll get you back to our boat and clan you up then, alright? You can stay in my room, and I have some lemon pudding in the onboard icebox just for you, and when we get back home, you can have the guest room with the big bed and the toy box. Does that sound good?" The boy nodded mutely, still trying to dam the flow of tears, and she smiled. "There you are dear, it will be alright," she said, using her sleeve to gently pat tears from his cheeks, and she began to walk back towards the other official- an official who was smiling approvingly. "We'll get you some new toys when we get back to Tyr's Hand. Grandpa has been carving, but he hasn't had any children to give the toys he's made and-"

It was the mention of toys that finally gave Ron some mastership over his voice, for he had suddenly remembered that there was something important he should be considering.

"I have some toys here Aunt Lisa. May I get them?"

"Well, I don't want to stay on this boat for much longer, but certainly, you may get them!" Ron smiled.

"And I'm going to come live with you?"

"Of course," she said tenderly, smiling back."

"But… …can… I come to visit Leonid, too?" The woman blinked, frowning a bit as her eyebrows came together in thought.

"Leonid?"

As if Aunt Lisa saying the name had triggered more important memories, Ron twisted around to look behind him. His undead caretaker was not there. The boy blinked in confusion, but Ketala explained Leonid away as the Argent Dawn paladin who had taken care of the boy. Ron asked to be set down, and when Lisa obliged he ran off to find his toys. Leonid was not in their room… so the boy decided to look for the paladin. He checked the kitchen, but he did not find the undead. He found and asked Carlin, but he did not find the undead, and Carlin had no information. He ran the hallways, calling, but he did not find the undead. Finally, even he had to admit that he could not hold up Aunt Lisa any longer. He slowly headed up to the deck, dragging his feet and looking around forlornly, unable to understand why his undead caretaker had vanished. He kept expecting him to show up, to smile and hug him and to come with him… He could not understand. To him, the thought that Leonid would not come, and that he would leave with his aunt and never see the undead again, was too horrible for him to even comprehend. It wasn't possible. Couldn't happen.

Yet it did. The boy was up on the deck, and his aunt was herding him towards the side of the ship. There was a rope ladder there, and, before he knew it, he was climbing down the ladder, horrified and yet helpless to stop. He had to climb down. He had to- Aunt Lisa screamed above him, and Ron froze, staring upwards.

"Madame!" a familiar voice said indignantly. "Do I look Scourge to you?"

To her credit, Aunt Lisa did manage a halting apology. However, it was buried under Ron's delighted cry of "Leonid!" There was a moment of nothing, and then the undead leaned over the rail, smiling.

"You forgot something," he said, and he stretched over, reaching the newly carved griffon down to the boy. Ron blinked, smiling, and took the offered toy in one hand, but he immediately looked from it back to the undead paladin.

"You're coming, too, right?" he questioned. Leonid hesitated, breathing out in a silent sigh. "Leonid?"

"Go with your aunt, alright? She will take good care of you."

"But Leonid…"

"You don't want to hold your aunt up, now do you?"

"But…"

"Go on. Hurry up." Dismayed and abandoned, the little boy lifted his hand to clutch the paladin's. His undead caretaker returned the grip for a moment and then released, pulling his hand back. "Hurry up, Ron." The little boy looked up at him so miserably for a moment, and for that moment it looked like the undead would pick up the boy, drag him back over the rail, and fight off any Scarlet Crusader who attempted to take him.

The inevitable pull of fate, however, started the boy downward again, pulling him farther and father down a road that couldn't happen- shouldn't happen- mustn't happen. And then he was in the boat, and his aunt was settled next to him, with waves tossing up and down between him and the Argent Dawn ship. His undead caretaker stood and watched the boat depart, waving with all the feel of final and irrevocable departure.

* * *

Months after leaving Northrend...

Undercity

Nathanos shuddered, body arching. He clutched at his chest, snarling in denial at what he found there. The movement- the convulsion- the twisting. Like before. Slam after wrenching slam. He screamed, clawing his way out of his makeshift bed- where he had been resting- and tore at his chest, ripping into his own flesh and damaging his delicate, healed finger tips. He grit his teeth and convulsed, shrieking furiously, and then curled up and vomited, spitting blood vehemently over the ground.

"Lord Nathanos, are you al-?"

"GET OUT!" the Ranger screamed, hurling an axe brutally towards the voice. The axe struck stone, burying deep into it, and the voice immediately backed off, its owner already used to its new master's temperaments. Nathanos snarled, holding his chest, feeling it- the betrayer, the fault, the wracking distortions.

The night visions had brought it on. The _dreams_…

Nathanos hadn't dreamed in ages- had barely slept in ages- but he had done so now! And the dreams- the memories! That moment: The moment Ketala went over the cliff- the moment the wracking convulsions began-

"**Nathanos, how long did you hold me from falling over that cliff?"**

"**Why do you ask?"**

"**Because you were soaked with blood. Undead bleed very sluggishly, due to the fact that blood is either still in their veins, or very slow and moved only by traces of the magic that animates them." He merely shrugged.**

Undead do not bleed quickly, because undead do not have a pulse to move the blood out of their bodies. But Nathanos had not held her all that long. He had been bloody because of _it_. Because of the twisting in his chest. _It_ had begun then, when Ketala had gone over, and the memories- the dreams- had restarted it…

Nathanos had been bloody because when Ketala had gone over the cliff, the whole world had almost ended. Nathanos had panicked. His blood had raced as he had dived to catch the angel._ His blood had raced_.

His heart had beaten. That is why he had bled so badly. It was beating now, restarted by the dreams, but, like last time, it was rapidly slowing. Still, he could feel the wrenching slamming of his heart as it beat, denying its own death. Denying his hatred.

He clutched his chest tightly, blood oozing from where he had wounded himself with his own fingers, feeling his own heartbeat slowly subside, and relaxing as it did so. "I worry," the heart shouted. "I'm scared." His eyes closed, his mind overflowing with the hate that his beating heart still strove to deny. "I don't want to lose you," the beating whispered. "I'm frightened. I don't want you to die. I need you." Nathanos screamed. His finger tips ripped into his chest, wrenching and pulling. Then _it_ was in his hands. He had it and he yanked, hot blood flowing over his fingers, oozing out over his chest, spurting upon the ground. He ripped it out and hurled it into a wall, and savored the silence, the pain, and the blood. But then- he heard it! The sound!

He stared at the heart as it beat futilely on, tossing on the ground where it lay, his eyes wide in amazement. After a moment, it stopped, lying silently in a grotesque heap. Nathanos stared at it a long moment, and then looked down at the gaping hole in his chest, ribs cracked aside, and blood leaking out. He merely gazed at it for a long moment, feeling the pain and the damage. Then he determined a troll's blood potion was in order, and he pushed himself to his feet, blood dripping down his leather clothing, his chest ripped open, and strode off to retrieve one, his eyes flaming with utter hatred for his hellish savior.

One way or another, Nathanos was reliant on Ketala. Without her, he had nothing left in life. Without her to hate, without her to rend apart mentally, he had no focus but to fight and to die. Ketala had successfully given him a point in living.

Ironically, Nathanos had never before- in life of death- been so frustrated, angry, and out of sorts as during the brief few years he had known Ketala Truae.

He had felt her call- her subconscious need, and he had answered it with his own; his starvation for causing pain. He felt her mind near his, starved and lonely, and he latched onto it, feeding off its pain... and its joy at his presence. He starved forher attention and for battle, for the cleave of his blade against undead flesh. He was so bored, so irrtable. He was a tactitian, true, but a _general_, not a politician. The Ranger Lord was built to be on the field of battle, commanding troops or minions. He utterly loathed his position in the undercity- loathed it as a trapped animal would loathe its cage. The power over and entire race held no value to him. He trusted only in his own strength and power, and in the strength of an army. A city was useless to him- a liability and an irritation.

But there were no others to take his place...

It didn't take Nathanos very long to remember he didn't give a damn about the Undercity. He didn't give a damn about it, could care less whether it fell or stood, and owed it no debts whatsoever. His only allegiance was to the Dark Lady. The Undercity itself meant nothing to him.

His blade yearned for the taste of Scourge flesh and Crusade blood.

His mind hungered for a victim.

* * *

Tyr's Hand

Ron played happily with his toys- at least, he played as happily as Ron could play. Happiness was not something that seemed to come easily to the small child. Ever since Lisa had brought him back from the Argent Dawn ships, he had been a changed boy. His family naturally attributed it to the death of his step father at Ketala's hands. The boy had already lost both of his parents to the Scourge and it was assumed that the child's depression stemmed from the loss of his stepfather, his caretaker.

Ronald's grandfather was watching over him, smiling and whittling small toys for the child. He was an old man, mercifully spared from the scourge and taken in by the Scarlet Crusade. Although Lisa and her family were related to Ron's mother and the grandfather was related to Ron through the boy's father, the family had taken the old man in and given him a permanent place in their humble abode.

And now, with Ron back, the little family was content indeed. The grandfather had his precious grandson back, and the boy's presence was a litany against sorrow for those who had been lost to the Scourge. Lisa was cheery again. Her husband was on the mend from the conflict in Northrend. All was right in the world.

Except Ron was unhappy. While it was easy to attribute his sadness to the death of his step-father, it was not so easy to comfort the small child. Since the grandfather was the only one who had no pressing duties, it therefore fell upon him to baby-sit the young boy, and it was also he who truly noticed how sad the little boy was.

Ron's grandfather was blind now. His eyesight had left him many years ago, and he had developed a very acute sense of touch to make up for his lack. Wood transformed into beautiful scenes and mysterious creatures beneath his skilled hands. Even before his blindness, his particular skill with carving had been well-renown- a skill passed down from father to son through the generations. The old man's name was Evron, and he sat in his hide-covered chair, relaxing and smiling down at where he knew is grandson to be. He listened to the boy play for a long while, smiling at the words and personalities that the small boy gave his characters. Ron made a whizzing sound and a small carving flew up and landed on the arm rest of Grandfather Evron's chair. The old man smiled, reaching over and examining the child as the little boy went back to the figures on the ground. The toy on the armrest was a griffon- some great guardian watching over one of the figures below.

Evron frowned suddenly, his fingers rubbing along the surface of the griffon. The craftsmanship of the small toy was amazing. The tiny ridges of the feathers- so perfect!- seemed so familiar…

"I don't remember this one," the old man reflected, and he endured a brief scolding by Ron as to why that griffon needed to remain where it was, watching over the little carved figures below it. The grandfather chuckled and look to the boy's voice, tilting his head to the side. "I'm sorry little one. But I don't remember this one. Is this one of the toys the blacksmith made you?" Ron blinked, squinted at the figure, and then shook his head. Then, apparently realizing his grandfather could not see him shaking his head, he answered,

"No, I got that one when I was with the Ar… argent Dawn, grandpa…" The old man blinked and frowned lightly, giving a small sigh.

"You don't know who made it then? You just bought it?" his face brightened. "Who did you buy it from little one?"

"I didn't buy it, though." The grandfather blinked his glazed eyes, trying to divine who had possibly bought the toy for the little child. He hadn't asked the little boy about his time with the Argent Dawn as he figured that the small child would be traumatized by his step-father's death. However, the little boy eliminated the need for further questioning.

"Leonid made it for me." Evron dropped the griffon and it clattered to the ground. The little boy looked quickly at him and the old man apologized and bent over to pick it up, his fingers shaking.

"Leonid you say? Who was he?" he asked quietly.

"He took care of me. He was in the Argent Dawn." The old man let out a silent breath, relaxing.

"He sounds like a good man." The little boy smiled and was just about to nod when he frowned.

"… But he didn't come with me…" Evron blinked, looking blindly, quizzically at the boy.

"What do you mean?"

"He didn't come with me. When Aunt Lisa came. I looked all over for him but I couldn't find him and…" the little boy's eyes welled up with tears. "And Aunt Lisa was in a hurry and I was already half-half way do-down to the rowboat when I heard him a-and he leaned over and g-gave me the toy and he- he didn't come with me!" The small boy's hands clenched his toys. "He didn't c-come with me, and then we were rowing away!" The grandfather's blind eyes widened and he pushed himself off his chair, kneeling down and gathering the boy in his arms, murmuring reassurances and pulling the boy into his lap, stroking the child's hair as the boy clung to him in return.

It seemed Ron's lot in life to lose every person who ever became dear to him.

"There, there child," the old one murmured, picking the boy up into his arms and rocking him gently. "It's alright. It's alright." The little boy just sniffled as the man sat down in his chair, and the two were quite for quite some time. "Now," the grandfather said, when he was sure the little boy was calm again, "what was this great Leonid person like?" The little boy shivered, but talking seemed to have had a calming effect on him, and he managed to murmur out,

"He was a paladin… The other people in the Argent Dawn said he was special, because few of his kind could become paladins."

"Oh?"

"Yes. When I was first brought there I was scared of him. After everyone died and he was so ugly and… but…" the boy calmed down, leaving the old man to wonder if the boy had been raised by an orc for the short time he was with the dawn. "I tried to run away but he always brought me back. I thought I hated him, but then one time I ran away and there was a monster-" the boy's face paled. "Horrible ugly, horrible but… Lenoid came and found me, and he killed it and brought me back and hugged me and tucked me into bed and gave me a toy to play with and…" the little boy looked up sadly at his grandfather. "He took care of me. He looked scary, but he wasn't. But he didn't come with me!" the little boy whispered, and he buried his face into his grandfather's chest.

"Well," the old man said after a moment, "sometimes humans and other people don't get along very well. Maybe he was a creature that humans fight with, and coming here would not be safe. What was Leonid?" He didn't mean to pry, but the talk looked to be relieving the boy of stress, and his curiosity as to the expert wood craftsman only grew with every word.

"… Undead…" the boy said softly.

For the second time that day, Evron Bartholomew nearly had a heart attack. Trembling, he reached over and picked up the griffon, feeling the familiar craftsmanship, and tears came down the blind man's face. He had been right. Only one other being left in the world had such craftsmanship with wood- a being that Evron had passed the secrets onto himself…

His son…

* * *

Andorhal

She was curled up in a ball in the second room of the inn, shivering, helpless. Her eyes were wide, gasps of air issuing from her lips every few moments, and her hands were at her ears, trying to block out sounds found only within her own mind. He watched her a moment, hating her, marveling at how such a pathetic, pitiful being could have ever manipulated or controlled him. Then, silently, he walked into the room, coming up to her bed. He looked down at her, silent, observing. After a moment he sat down beside her, his weight making a temporary depression on the mattress.

From within her twisted, unhappy world, Ketala felt the shifting of her bed. She jerked around to see who sat beside her, but she was stopped from moving by the cool axe blade that rested against her prone neck. After a shivering moment, she discerned the shape of the axe blade- its brilliant serrated edge and yet jagged shape… Polished black-green wood formed the handle…

Nathanos. Nathanos. Her hand moved, slowly, slowly reaching up to touch the axe- to move along its soft surface. Her fingertips felt his gloved ones and moved over them, surrounding them and holding on to them. She held his hand and weapon closer and tighter to her, rather then pushing them away. He turned it slightly and subconsciously to ensure that the serrated edge was not pressing too hard against her exposed throat. And she held him there, her fingers examining his gloved ones and relaying that many of his fingers had again been worn to the bone.

"What do you hear?" he whispered after a long moment, his voice close. Her fingers tightened on his, and he felt her mind seeking his out. His eyes flamed with rage and in a swift motion he hooked her neck with the bottom of his axe, wrenching her closer to him, and grabbed her chin forcefully with her other hand. "Don't you _dare_ touch my mind," he snarled with evil venom, his fingers crushing her throat and jaw like a vice. Her eyes closed quickly and she shuddered under his hold. "Now, what do you hear?"

"… Him. Day and night I hear him. Endless are his accusations. Endless are the screams of the dead," she whispered. "And it hurts. I cannot block him out. I feel every word, and every scream."

"How long did it take for them to elevate to this level of torment?" he inquired, watching her face.

"As soon as I had landed on Quel'Thalas, to help the Argent Dawn sanctify a new chapel, and the Undercity ships were out of sight." Nathanos lifted a brow and chuckled.

"As soon as I was gone? You love the cliché, Ketala. You have thousands that love you and that curl beside you every last second of your day."

"They can do nothing against a ghost."

"No less than I can."

"They don't have such an unfailing grip on reality." He chuckled, shaking his head. "I shielded your mind. You told me you'd protect mine in return," she murmured. Only then did Nathanos realized that Ketala had shut her eyes- not out of fear, shame, trauma, or any such negative emotion- but in order that he might not be effected by them.

"Reality? Do you know what reality is? You did slaughter them. You killed each and every last one, as cold-bloodedly as I would have- as he would have. You killed them in the most effective way- not the most merciful or least painful. You slit one man's stomach open and actually helped claw his bowls out," he said sweetly. Her eyes flashed open, glowing brilliant, sad blue, and she grabbed him, shoving herself up and hurling him backwards with a strength that belied all her apparent weakness.

"… Get… away from me," she says slowly, darkly. "Get out, and never, ever come back." There was no hint of unbridled fury in her tone. No ill restrained anger showed itself in her face. She did not even grit her teeth. "You came here unwelcome, uninvited, and unwanted. Now get out. I don't need you; I don't want you. You are no more then a leech."

"_I'm_ the leech?" he said with cruel, incredulous laughter.

"You've been wanting to part ways with me since we first met. You told me I wasted my attentions on you. Well I've finally faced the truth that you are right. Now leave- like you want. I will bother you no longer." No anger. Only calm realization. Nathanos's face twisted at this out of character response from Ketala, but he merely chuckled.

"You are the needy one Ketala. What will you do without _me_?"

"I will go northeast to live with the Argent Dawn." Nathanos's eyes narrowed.

"Leonid."

"Yes. Leonid and Carlin have both ever been my friends. I am sure they will be able to help me where my followers cannot. As soon as everything is ready here, I will go to Quel'Thalas."

"Leonid lives in a fairy world where all is bright and hopeful! He is no different from yourself!"

"Then I will double my efforts to get there, as I am sure to find welcome among them. You told me to seek an undead who could already appreciate the merit of salvation. I have done so. Now leave." He snarled, but suddenly found he had no retort, as he had no idea what to feel. Relief? Hatred? He had never expected this from Ketala!

Which means he'd come to expect she'd always be there, with her annoying compassion. He had already accepted her as an immutable part of his existence. He'd never even contemplated the idea that one day she would be gone. Which meant he'd never contemplated the existence he could live if he ever killed her.

He'd never truly believed he'd ever kill Ketala Truae. He imagined it, fantasized it, but never really believed it. She would always be there, and there was nothing he could do to stop her. Yet now she set him free. She agreed never to bother him again.

But she had already done her insidious work. She had left her mark on him and changed him, transformed him somewhat. He could not go back to what he used to be, and now he was trapped, half feeling. Now she left him half whole, replacing him… He snarled darkly at her.

"You will regret this when your blade cuts down Lachdan."

"Lachdan? I'd never-"

"We shall see. Perhaps in your delirium you shall strike out at the specter of Arthas, only to find your scimitar buried in Lachdan's chest, burning away his undead flesh."

"I would _never._"

"He can't keep you sane. He can barely remember his own name. His mind is encased in yours, and he sees everything you see. He can't tell reality from mind-images." She looked about to retort, and then her eyes narrowed.

"Why do you care?"

"I merely point out your foolishness."

"Why do you care?" she repeated. "You're free."

'I AM NOT FREE!' His mind screamed silently. 'You have poisoned me from the moment you first encountered me! You owe me now!' but this indicated a need for her. He had already risked that enough by just coming to Andorhal. Instead he just snarled. "You will regret this, and I will relish your torment," he said with deep, sadistic passion, and then he turned, striding off, back out into the night.

* * *

Outside Andorhal

Ketala sighed, walking quietly up to Uther's tomb, her head down and her eyes watching the ground. When Thel'danis spotted her, he almost didn't recognize her. Without her thick plate, she looked small and fragile. Sensing that something was wrong with the poor creature, Thel'danis actually left the steps of the shrine to greet her, gently placing a hand on her shoulder and guiding her inside. Though he asked no questions, the tall elf looked at her with concern, and sat her down once inside the small, open shrine. She complied and then sighed weakly, lowering her head and closing her eyes.

"… What is wrong, Ketala?" he inquired after sitting down beside her.

"… I drove away someone very precious to me. One of Sylvanis's Forsaken." He frowned, regarding her a long moment.

"… On accident?"

"No. I did it because, sadly enough, it is what's best. Because if I didn't, it would either tear me or him apart." She looked over at Thel'danis. "He has coped with death by slipping slightly into insanity. He's filled with rage and hate, and he is too proud to lay either aside. And to him I cause great pain by pushing him to feel joy and sadness again." She sighed, looking off at nothing.

"… Why is he so precious to you?"

"…Because not all of him is lost. Undead are unholy, and thus cannot be paladins. Undead are unnatural, and thus cannot be rangers."

"And he is a ranger?"

"Yes, although he more often then not chooses his companions from undead stock, mixed in with his skill in necromancy is also pure ranger gift."

"Is that the only reason?"

"I care about him. He is… my friend…"

"… Yet both of you suffer from the friendship."

"He and I were not meant to be together. Zul'vii was right. Trying to help him is like trying to help a leech. There is nothing I can do if he is not willing to change. I just expend all my strength- all my soul heart and mind, and his small changes and developments only serve to leech more and more life from me, without ever really achieving anything. If I don't give up now it will devour me, because I will never again be able to give up on him."

The elf was quiet, watching her as she knelt, her face grayed with solemn sadness, and he knew not what to say. "I have never known you to give up permanently before- on anything. He has never shown and signs of care in return?" She chuckled and then sighed.

"… He has. Just coming to Andorhal proves that. That he might have missed me- might have needed me, or realized he needed me. Twice I've awakened, after being wounded, to him holding me and stroking my hair. I think it upsets him because he feels vulnerable whenever he shows emotion."

"Then…?"

"We can reach no happy medium," she said, smiling weakly at Thel'danis. "For months- years now I have stayed by his side, unwilling to leave him, trying with everything in me to help him. Even though he rejects me, I know he only does so out of pain, and not out of any happiness for his current life. And during the whole course of that time he has hated me." She looked down again. "Now he comes to me, only after I am already fed up with him. We can never agree, because we never both want to be near each other at the same time. Nathanos is only overwhelmed by the desire to be near me when he doesn't have me- which is when I am fed up with him…" She shook her head. "So now we are trapped. I have poured my life into helping him- sacrificed half my existence in order that half of him might live. If I give any more, I'd destroy myself.

"So nothing can change. I gave half of what I am, and so now we are both broken- both only partially whole. Because we can never reach any semblance of cooperation, we shall remain this way, torn and half empty, for the rest of our days. He will hate and blame me for giving him the ability to feel again, and yet he will take grim satisfaction in that, because of this, I will never be able to be truly happy."

"Yet you give up?"

"I can't do any more."

"Is there nothing that would make you fight again?"

"…" Ketala looked weakly up at Thel'danis. "If he sacrificed his pride. If he gave in." She shook her head again. "He would never do that. He is too filled with vain anger. All the hatred he has for me… It is because he thinks I take away his free will. He can think of nothing less appealing then giving in and accepting me. It is a violation of all pride he clings to. For him, there is very little left but pride." A small smile again touched her lips. "In the end, that is what the competition is. What is more important to him? Pride or me? Well, out of pride, he would pick pride, no matter which is actually more important. So we will both live out the rest of our days as only half of what we truly should be."

"So you say the fault is his?"

"No. It's just that he's the only one left with the power to set things right. There's nothing more I can do. He knows I care about him- that I would help him if he ever asked. That is all that is left to be done. I have done my part. Now there is nothing more I can do. The next move is his."

Thel'danis regarded her silently a long moment. Never before has he seen Ketala in any mood short of cheery. Indeed, she did seem half herself. She continuously glanced at the spirit haunting her, she was small and slight of frame without her protective armor, her face was drawn and sorrowful and her shoulders drooped. Her eyes-

Thel'danis stared at her eyes, his expression moved with dismay. Those brilliant, ever changing orbs of color and light were gray. Pure, dull gray. All color, luster, and warmth had left her face. To all appearances, Ketala Truae looked as wretched as if she were dying.

On second thought, perhaps she was. Then she suddenly began to cry, silent tears dripping down her cheeks, and then she began to sniffle and shudder. All he could manage to do for this young female was to stand near her and place a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it gently as she lowered her face to her hands and weakly began to sob.

"… You love him… That's why you stayed. Even as the angel of compassion, you would have long ago given up on him. But you can't give up… because you love him…" She did not deny it, just covered her face further.

Then there was the smell of something burning- a soft grunt. Thel'danis turned quickly, his eyes flaming as he spotted an undead infringing on the edge of Uther's burial grounds. However, it was Ketala who moved first, getting up and passing the elfin guardian of the tomb. She left the marble edge of the shrine and pause there, one foot on the ground, regarding the undead quietly.

Nathanos.

He regarded her quietly, no expression on his face. Even his eyes were dulled, like some sort of shield had been erected to hide every last emotion within him. He took one slow, small step forward, his body hissing in protest of the holy energy in the vicinity, burns lancing along his armor. Still, he did not move back, watching her.

Slowly, slowly, Ketala moved forward, stepping nearer to him… Closer… closer… her booted feet making slight depressions in the soft grass that surrounded the tomb. Closer, till she was at the very edge of the powerful circle of holy energy that guarded the tomb, and so that she was only a foot away from the ranger. He said nothing- face still blank. Slowly, slowly, she lifted a hand, moving it forward until she felt the holy energy around it lessen. He was silent a moment, watching her, and then his gloved and burnt hand had reached hers, palm to palm, the fingers slowly entwining. The two were of the same height, build, and mold. Both fierce, both perfect combatants, and at the moment both with bland, quiet eyes. Particularly nasty burns lanced the ranger's fingers, and his body was not free from their searing flames.

Both regarded one another, silent words passing between them, their eyes meeting and holding one another. Then, slowly, Ketala stepped forward, and Nathanos stepped back, and the two left the scalding light. Slowly, slowly, Ketala's eyes began to whirl and glow, colors slowly merging into their gray pools. She moved further from the light and he stepped back to move with her, their eyes but a half foot away from one another. Her eyes whirled faster, yellow and pink spiraling around in their depths, blending to white and then cyan, and then orange. He shuddered, the quiet look leaving his eyes, replaced with something like horror, and he gripped her arm with his other hand. She reached forward as well, putting an arm behind his back and holding him up and against her, her eyes boring into his, pulling him out, and swallowing him up. His fingers tightened on her shoulder, his skeletal fingers digging into her skin, and a guttural snarl escaped his lips, his expression twisting with pain and unreserved hatred.

Ketala ignored the painful grip- ignored the blood dripping out of her arm and down Nathanos's hand, and ignored the gloves he was currently ruining. She just gazed into his eyes, releasing this other hand from her own and then moving that freed limb up to his face, cupping his cheek, holding his gaze steady on hers…

He screamed, slashing through her shoulder, biting her hand so hard she heard the cracking nose of teeth upon bone, and then he released, ripping backwards, his face contorted with demonic rage. In turn, Ketala's eyes widened, but she made not a sound, looking quietly at her wounded shoulder and mauled hand. Slowly, she lifted her eyes to his again, but he immediately looked away, gripping the handle of one of his axes. After a moment, she moved forward, coming up to him. She made no move to look into his eyes, or even to touch him- just merely stood very close, very near. He shuddered a moment, hesitating, and then shrieked, whipping his axe out and aiming at her neck.

Despite all her independence, all her skill in fighting, and all her knowledge of how volatile Nathanos was, Ketala didn't move. The blade stopped a hair's breath short of her throat, quivering in midair, again proving that Ketala and Nathanos knew each other to the finest detail. Like Ketala could never kill Nathanos, Nathanos could never kill her. Each of them knew this. They knew each other so well that they could _trust_ in one another's personalities indefinitely.

Trust. They could trust one another. And they had been doing so for a very long time.

The two were a strange and yet poetically ironic match. Moments before they had looked so similar. Both duel-wielded, both of equal height and build and strength of character. Both with dull eyes. Now the two looked so surprisingly different. Nathanos's hair and eyes were bladelike, natural, and brown. Ketala's hair was soft and raven-black, her eyes a whirling mess of color and life. The ranger had given in to death, and yet the paladin had risen above it, her face once again radiating warmth and light. So different and yet so similar; two halves of one whole; perfect compliments to one another in so many ways- pragmatic to dogmatic, angry to forgiving, death to life. In whatever shape or manner, the two were kindred spirits; two sides of the same coin. They belonged together, in hatred or love, in suffering or joy, whatever path they walked down. Even if the two turned on each other, they belonged together, in an endless cosmic battle, neither one ever tiring.

Thel'danis watched them silently from within Uther's tomb, regarding how they lingered near one another to savor each other's presence. The undead ranger came closer, so the two were almost brushing- they were so close, and the two stood there quietly, lost in their own thoughts, half between the light and the darkness.

* * *

Undercity

Ketala approached the creature, watching how it sagged hopelessly in its chains, its broad and powerful shoulders collapsed with the knowledge of its inevitable fate. She tilted her head to the side, watching it breathe, its body twitching occasionally with pain. She came near quietly, and though she was dressed in her hybrid plate armor, she made not a sound as her feet touched the ground. She watched the creature shiver in its agony, and she marveled at the fact that it had given up crying out. Carefully, she knelt and gripped its one broken horn, pulling its head up. It looked at her groggily, its face and lips even paler then usual. It barely recognized her, completely starved and weak- having given into its fate with uncharacteristic acceptance. Demons were not known for accepting their own deaths.

Ketala regarded it quietly, peering into its cyan eyes. "You betrayed her. You deserve this." It said nothing, breathing erratically. She regarded it a long moment, looking it over. Then, slowly, she touched a finger to its bloodless lips, opening its mouth slightly. It did not resist, and she tilted her head, confirming her suspicions that its fangs had been ripped out. "You need help now, but now she is not here to save you. Do you regret it now? Do you regret your temper got the better of you- that you trusted Arthas? Does the sweet revenge you felt at her downfall match up to what is happening to you now?"

Varimathras, the pathetic creature in question, didn't respond. He did not have the strength to nod or shake his head. He just gazed at her silently, weakly. She was silent a moment more, just watching him, and then she moved one arm, reaching into her belt and pulling out a thick vial. She uncorked it and brought it near his face. Immediately he twitched, stiffening slightly at the smell of the potion.

"I can save you, but in return you must repay your debt to Sylvanis and reestablish your loyalty to her. You must help us save her, and kill _him_. And then you must take whatever punishment she exacts on you, and remain her servant." The dread lord shuddered, but he was beaten beyond any strength of will. He opened his mouth a bit, gazing weakly, hungrily at the vial. "If you drink this, you as good as sign the deal," she murmured, and she moved the vial to his lips. He resisted only a moment, weakly pulling back from vial. But then, as she started to pull the vial away, he gave in, opening his mouth, and let her pour its contents down his throat.

Rich, thick blood, its freshness preserved by Apothecary Lydon's magic, poured down the Dreadlord's throat, and he made a weak sound of relief and pleasure, guzzling it down, head raised, like a newborn babe.

Thrall had given Varimiathras to the undead, as Sylvanis would not have fallen if the dread lord had not betrayed them all. Nathanos was quite willing to hand the Dreadlord over to the most skilled torturers of the Undercity. He'd always hated Varimathras anyway. The dread lord's hooves had been pried off, leaving blood-encrusted stumps where his leg bones ended. His demonic fur had also been burnt off, probably by a holy flame priest spell, and grease was smeared over the burns. His finger bones had been pulled out, leaving his hands as nothing more then palms and withered flesh around it. The Dreadlord's wings had been pulled clean out of his back He was utterly revolting and entirely helpless, and, of course, Ketala took pity on him. She fiddled with the chain locks until they came undone, and caught the demon as he slipped free. He was very heavy, but Ketala, as always, had Thrash with her, and she draped him over the lynx's back. The Demon swooned from pain, giving in to the fatigue without a second thought. His eyes closed and he fainted dead away.

When he woke up again, he was laying down in some room, a fire blazing warmly. His body ached, but it was a dull and minor pain compared to the Twisting Nether and to the things he had endured at Sylvanis's or Nathanos's hands. The Dreadlord looked at his limbs weakly. He was heavily bandaged, and there was a Nightelf beside the bed, slowly and skillfully changing the bandages around one of his arms. She was female, dressed in unrevealing gray robes, and her eyes had a glazed look to them, like she was thinking back to some distant time or place. As she pulled the bandages from his arms, he could see his pale flesh grossly mutilated from the holy energies, and he could see were his fingers should have been. When she was done applying the bandages she looked at him.

Immediately her eyes seemed to focus, to gain clarity and thought.

"Are you strong enough to speak?" The Demon regarded her silently a long moment.

"Yesss." Along with his normal lisp, he had now adopted a slur, a byproduct of the loss of his fangs.

"Good. Do you remember when we came to you in the torture chambers of the Undercity?"

The Dreadlord frowned, his mind churning as it weakly backtracked into time. He remembered the torture chambers… the pain… He remembered Ketala's face vaguely, of her making him promise… _something_ in return for life.

"… Ket…"

"Yes," the Nightelf said, and she lifted a hand to tap her temple. "Ketala is with me. So now we are both _us_." Though the Demon was weak and tired, he retained enough of his mental prowess to realize Ketala was speaking through this Nightelf, and that the pale color of the elf's skin indicated that it was one of Ketala's undead minions. "We came to you, and we offered you blood in exchange for promises." The Nightelf turned to the bandages on his legs, and began working on removing them. "You have been burnt by powerful holy energy. You will not regenerate. So now you are helpless. Now you need _us_. Without fangs you cannot feed yourself. You cannot walk, your hands are useless, and you can no longer fly. Now you need us to survive. We gave you blood, and we took you here, and we nursed you back to life. Now you will fulfill your promises, no matter how long it takes." She turned her head, looking at him. "Do you remember what you promised?"

The Dreadlord said nothing, his memories too jumbled to make sense of.

"You will help us free Sylvanis. You will help us kill Arthas. And then you will be her servant again, and she will do what she wishes with you."

The Dreadlord snorted. "She'd kill me."

"Maybe she will not. If you do not follow through with your promises, I will take you back to the Undercity. Tell me- which is better? Entrusting your fate to Sylvanis Windrunner, or entrusting your fate to Nathanos?"

"… Neither."

"But…" she female elf said, leaning over him and looking down at him with piercing, near-white eyes. "If you save Sylvanis, perhaps she will have mercy on you. Nathanos will not. Only saving Sylvanis gives you any hope of survival. You made the mistake of betraying her and trusting Arthas. You will pay for it, one way or another. But Sylvanis has a reason to keep you alive." She looked back down to his leg, pulling the bandage free of his ruined flesh. "And your life is all you have left to lose, Varimathras." The demon was silent, watching the elf tend him. "Think over your answer carefully," she said after she had finished with his last limb.


	37. SixthLegOfTheJournies Taint

Hey guys! Sorry it took so long, but I appear to have become a very lazy person. I just got Paper Mario 2 (I just suddenly had the urge to buy it), My WoW addiction has come back, and with Easter comming around and my RPG Maker egging me on, I've speant most of my days thinking of what to write and not actually writing it.

Do you want to know the sad truth? This story was done not one, or two, but in fact THREE weeks ago! Why did I not submit it? Because one part I wrote got deleted on my computer, and even as I'm writing this appology, I still haven't written it! Its the part where Ketala walks out of the inn and Nathanos is waiting. It was soooo well written, and now I have to put in a lame substitute. That, and I've been trying to find all my old RP records that contained Ember , but they're all missing ! (Author is horrified beyond belief). Which means rewriting! And as any author knows, rewriting something you've written is horrible and the finished product never turns out as good as the original (at least in the author's mind, it might actually be better to the public).

On top of that, my Iguana's not eating regularly, and had to go to the vet, her eyes are all irritated right now and i can't find the ointment I'm supposed to put in them! I'm gonna do my best to get back to regular, every week updates, but chances are I'll fail miserably. However, don't worry! I'll Keep updating! At least, i'll keep updatingas long as there are people like my reviewers to send me a review to whoop my hind quarters in to shape. No, really, i actually forget I have a fanfic sometimes and need the reminder... Ooh I love my reviewers! And eventually i'll get back into this fic and my updates'll become more regular again.

By the way, what do you think of me ending this fic and picking up immediatly with the sequal? Here's my reasoning: 37 chapter stories are rather intimidating, expecially if the chapters are soooo long, like mine. Sometimes I don't read stories simply because they seem insurmountable. Also, because of my writing style, people'll be able to start reading at the sequal without reading this story (although they'll be missing alot). Do you think it's a good idea? Or do you think it's not worth it?

Anyway, I realized there's way too much angst in this fic and not enough action! Let's switch from angst to action! ... Oh dang it... Ember's the new focus? Well, maybe we can settle for part angst part action.

I hope you enjoy!

* * *

_**Taint**_

* * *

Darnassus  
(After the Northrend Conflict, some time around Nathanos's and Ketala's reunion.)

Tyrande smiled, marveling at the two children in her arms, one with green hair and the other with violet-blue. Furion leaned over her shoulder, looking at the newborns with an expression between astonishment and deep pride.

"They're so precious," he murmured, reaching down to stroke the little girl's violet shock of baby hair. "I wish… Oh Tyrande, you cannot know how much I wish I could stay," he said after a moment, pulling his beloved against him.

He wished he could stay, but The Emerald Dream needed him. There was too much to be done. He had been given a reprieve to lead and help his people, and to comfort his Tyrande, but it was not to last forever. The green dragon flight needed all the help it could muster…

He could not delay. He needed to return to hibernation. He could only thank Elune that he had been given the chance to see his children before he returned to that deep sleep.

* * *

Theramore  
(Cont. Timeframe)

Jaina smiled across her kingdom, watching the naval repairs going on at the docks. She sighed, seating herself on the thick marble rail of her balcony, looking out at the sunset from her tower for a long moment. Then she looked down at the letter in her hand, reviewing the trade reports.

Well, government was certainly not made for Jaina Proudmoore, nor was Jaina Proudmoore meant for government; however, life had improved generously for her. Perhaps it was a purely mental thing. Perhaps it was due to the united war effort against Sithilis. Whatever the reason, nightmares rarely plagued her nights, she was getting proper sleep, and people in Stormwind had begun listening to her for once.

Which was strange, considering the only change between now and then appeared to be the fact that Jaina had been captured by The Lich King. Food for thought.

The Sorceress Queen of Theramore Isle blinked as she heard footsteps behind her, and she turned to see her admiral come up to the balcony rail and look out at the sea.

"… This balcony," he reflected after a moment. "It is the same height… and pointing South- the same direction- as your old bedroom balcony." Jaina smiled, looking out at the newly risen sun, coming up over the mountings bordering Dustwallow marsh, making the seemingly dull and morbid country alive and bright with amber browns and olive greens.

"I see land on one side with the rising sun, and sea on the other with its setting," she admitted, smiling at the brilliant waters. He nodded, his wide-brimmed hat shifting with the moment of his head, and he set one hand on the marble rail, leaning on it as he, too, watched the crystalline sea. Jaina looked at his hand- carefully gloved in blue with gold trim, and her smile faded a bit.

Daelin Proudmoore had returned to Theramore Isle with Jaina, and had kept his duties as Admiral. Why he had not returned to Kul'Tiras was up for debate, but it was rumored that when his daughter had stood up against him, she had managed to convince him that she was indeed an able leader; a leader worth following. Still, there was another universally accepted reason for why the King of Kul'Tiras remained in Theramore:

He was dead. Humans generally have a tendency to not take that little bit of information well. Daelin had taken to wearing gloves because the sight of his own hands- pale and lifeless- evidently caused him distress. He was dressed in full military uniform from throat to boot and was out in the hot marsh sun, yet he was only mildly above lukewarm.

Undead were generally colder then normal, but most people invent ridiculous reasons for why this is. Evidently, an undead person would have to be much colder then a living person, simply because an average person is warm blooded due to a strong pulse. The undead, having no such pulse, have no such innate warmth. They become like reptiles- a similar temperature to their surroundings. The presence of necromantic energies generally lowers body temperature as well, and thus an undead would lose a few more degrees due to that detail, but that's about it.

Daelin, however, had come to live in an extremely hot and moist climate. Although the magics that animated his body combated the effect of a hot and moist climate, there was a good chance that such a climate would quickly rot away the poor Admiral to a semblance of his formal self. In order to keep this from happening, Jaina (for it would have killed her to see her father waste away) had enchanted his uniform. The garment now kept him cool and dry.

Daelin turned his head to look at his daughter. Jaina had grown used to seeing his pale face, and instead she looked to his powerful dark blue eyes and smiled sincerely, patting the marble next to her. He smiled lightly and came over, sitting beside her, his hands on his lap, and he breathed in and out for the purpose of sighing. They sat for a moment before he spoke.

"We have a lot to talk about." She nodded her agreement, and then showed him the papers she held in one hand.

"Trade reports. Everything is going extremely well for the war effort. It's good to see that the Horde and Alliance are both distancing themselves from the main groups that are fighting. For example, the three factions doing the most fighting for the Horde side are called The Warsong Outriders, the Defilers, and the Frostwolves."

"Warsong?" Daelin knew that name too well…

"Grom Hellscream's clan. He died freeing himself and his people from demonic bloodlust against a demon called "Mannoroth." No one's sure what to think of them, you see. The clan settled in Ashenvale in order to get enough wood to build Orgrimmar, and many remain there to continue supplying Orgrimmar with wood. However, since they started, the orcs became acquainted with the Night Elves, and now the Warsong Clan and Silverwing Sentinels are engaged in a bitter war, neither willing to give into the other. Thrall has high respect for the Warsong clan, and the wood is necessary, but the conflict against the Night Elves is not something he wants encouraged. The Horde and Warsong Clan have become rather distant now. Only the Frostwolves are fully supported because the Frostwolves were in the Arathi Basin first, and the Arathi Basin is what the Frostwolves are fighting for."

"What of these 'Defilers'?"

"They are undead. They fight against the League of Arathor, and both factions got there at around the same exact time." Jaina shrugged. "Horde and Alliance do appear to be evenly matched in the categories of 'defending one's own land' and 'attempting to steal land from others'. Still, there's always hope. This joint war effort is taking a lot of focus off of fighting between Alliance and Horde, and the trade is blooming like there is no tomorrow, and Theramore gets to channel all that trade all because Stormwind would far prefer dealing with us to dealing with goblins."

"Wouldn't the goblins get restless? They're supposedly extremely greedy traders."

"We pass all the trade going to Orgrimmar through them, and we stay away from Stranglethorn and Tanaris, which is where their greatest towns are. Besides, Goblins have one advantage over us- they can travel over land by Zeppelin. Goblin trade can get places Theramore ships cannot go." The Admiral nodded understandingly, and both fell quite, absorbed in their own thoughts.

"… You are becoming a great leader," he said at last. Jaina chuckled sadly and shook her head.

"I have no interest in being a leader," she replied softly. "I'm just the one everyone looked to for leadership. And I can't leave now, because if I put someone else in my place, they wouldn't be able to do things right. Sometimes I wish I were an orc, and paperwork did not exist. I spend my entire life staring at written words." The Admiral did not comment on her seemingly blasphemous remark about humans suddenly becoming orcs and just chuckled.

"I always told you there was more to life than paper and ink."

"Only when the paper and ink takes five pages to covertly mention that officials from Stormwind think that you're mad." He smiled. "When I first reestablished contact with the Eastern Kingdoms, they sent me a bunch of treaties and such to establish Theramore as its own Kingdom. Half of them were filled with clandestine clauses I never saw coming." She turned a sad gaze back to her father. "It was like being betrayed. I found out later that those same treaties allowed men to come through my town and stage raids on Horde cities from within my own walls. After all we had suffered for in the name of peace… After losing you…" she choked up and lowered her head, breathing in weakly. "It was the ultimate insult. Everything I'd fought for, and every sacrifice I'd made was all in vain. For the rest of my life there would be nightmares for me. I'd done the right thing for the future of my race and my world, but I could never justify the means to my conscience; betrayal is wrong. Stormwind's politicians threw that all aside as if none of it were important."

She felt cool arms around her, and though the temperature was not as she remembered, the love and tenderness behind it was. She leaned into her father, secure in his parental embrace, and she slowly relaxed, savoring his presence. Everything was forgiven. Everything would be alright-

"Would you have done it again?"

Poor Jaina Proudmoore almost died on hearing those words.

"… Yes. Betrayal is wrong. Betraying you was very wrong… But betraying my allies, betraying my heart, betraying all I knew as right and wrong, was much worse," she said softly, and she was amazed at how easily the words came out.

"Then I forgive you," he returned.

Everything would be alright. It was true: the two had much to talk about.

The sun reached its apex and slowly began to descend, but while the light was still bright in the afternoon sky, Jaina's eye caught sight of the most unusual ship, and she pointed it out to her father. The sail was brilliant, crimson red, and emblazoned in gold and white was the symbol of the elves of Quel'Thalas.

"Kael'Thas," Jaina murmured after a moment. He blinked, looking at her.

"He was the leader of the elves that came to help me in Northrend. You remember him, don't you?"

"Of course I remember the prince of Quel'Thalas," The Admiral said, and he looked at her _almost_ mischeviously. She blinked, noticing his expression, and then she scowled. He remembered that Kael and Arthas had been competitive rivals for her affection. She cuffed Daelin upside the head and he laughed as she stood up and planted her hands on her hips. "So," he said, standing up slowly, "is there anything you participate in besides politics and magic." Jaina's scowl was replaced by an expression of thoughtfulness as she pondered. "I supervise the building of ships, help magically strengthen them-"

"Anything for personal enjoyment?"

"I go for long walks."

He smiled. "Would you like to go for one of those?"

She grinned and nodded. "May I bring my dog?" she inquired, already heading for her rooms with he following, so that she might get dressed up in an outdoor cloak. He lifted a brow, blinking at her.

"I didn't know you kept any pets."

"Just Mathghamhuin," she said, and as she walked in she peered in her bedroom. "Math! Math! Come!" There was a slight yelp and then Jaina was kneeling and a little brown rugged thing was leaping into her arms. She laughed, smothering her face into the small creature's coat, and then she turned back to Daelin. The Admiral's eyes widened and he stepped backwards a bit as he gazed at the dog. It was a wolf. Its distinct coat and markings, and even the way its fur laid across its small form, were all indications of the beasts heritage. However, more confusing were the tusks that protruded up from the creature's lower jaw. Jaina perceived her father's confusion, and she drew in a long breath, hoping he would understand.

"Thrall gave him to me for the winter celebration. Math's a Frostwolf." She smiled at the memory. "He told me I needed a mount due to the fact that I disdain horses. I disagreed, of course, but he insisted. I think it was because he saw how much I liked them, and he knows I'm all alone up here for most of my time. The Frostwolves are said to be as intelligent as any human, and fiercely loyal to those they bond with," she said, smiling hopefully. "I thought since I'm the only one crazy enough to attempt an alliance with the Horde, it was strangely suiting." Daelin said nothing, regarding her. After a moment, she came up to him, and Math lifted his head, tongue lolling out of his mouth. He retracted his tongue and closed his mouth, instantly looking like a curious sage, and sniffed the Admiral.

"You're really going to keep this to be your war mount?"

"I'm not sure. But one way or another, I am glad for his company, and I suppose that's all that counts. He brings me my inks and pens when I'm busy- isn't that right?" Math gave an affectionate growl and licked Jaina's chin, and the human sorceress laughed softly. The undead admiral slowly relaxed, allowing his logical faculties to come to the conclusion that this arrangement was only unusual- not dangerous, and in a moment he was gently patting the thing's head and accepting hesitant licks in return.

* * *

(Two Days Later)

"Prince Kael. It's good to see you," the sorceress said with a light smile. The Blood Elf looked straight at her and paled slightly, standing up straighter and taking in a slow deep breath. He was tall- a little over 6 feet in height compared to Jaina's 5'2" stature, and the leader of Theramore found herself looking up at him- just like she found herself looking up at just about everyone.

He had changed since his carefree days as prince of Quel'Thalas. His white, pupiless eyes had gone vivid, emerald green. He was dressed in powerful, imposing red and gold armor with a cape extending from his shoulder armor, all replacing his old white leathers and true silver mail. He had changed. The dark green orbs floating around him were proof of that. He seemed horridly similar to Arthas, save for the hesitant and hopeful expression on his face, and the life that still thrived behind the dark green pools of his eyes.

"I've been told you were a great help in the expedition in Northrend. I'm very thankful." He nodded mutely, unsure of what to say, and then he lifted his eyes, looking around her study for the first time. The corner of his mouth quirked up, and he eyed her again.

"You would think a princess would be better at cleaning- especially her own room…" An age old joke, from a prince whose country was populated with warrior females. Jaina grinned and gave the red-armored elf a shove. He accepted it fully, giving a light bow, and all formalities dissipated between the two as their lighthearted gestures brought a comfortable aura to the conversation.

"Come in! Would you like some tea? Its one of the only things I've ever learned to cook properly."

"Tea would be nice, thank you," he said, and he waited in her study as she quickly prepared and brought out some herbal tea and presented a cup to him.

"Do you wear your armor to bed?" the sorceress inquired with a smirk as she went about straightening her study enough that no one would accidentally trip on some artifact of extreme power and blow themselves to smithereens.

"Sometimes," he reflected with a smirk.

"Then you've worn it far too long," the woman quipped joyfully. "Take it off if you want- make yourself at home." He smiled, considering her offer, and finally decided it would not be polite to leave his cape on. The green orbs circling him dimmed in color and he set the tea down long enough to detach his shoulder armor and cape. Then, feeling he looked irregular without the cape, he further obliged and removed his breastplate. Well, obviously, one cannot walk around in only armored pants, so the prince did removed all his armor- feeling strangely small in nothing but his red tunic and breeches. He set the plates of red armor down gently, quietly, and then just sat down upon one of the chairs she had in the room, thoughtfully retrieving his tea and sipping it again.

"I see you still practice magic," he said after a long moment.

"As often as I can," she replied, straightening a few remaining.

"What do you draw off of for power?" She glanced at him, and he subconsciously repressed the green orbs around him, feeling almost ashamed of how his people now tapped into magical energies…

"… I don't know. I know Dalaran's been destroyed and the Sunwell is gone." She shrugged, turning back to him. "It's possible to tap into the latent energy around oneself, but this is generally not enough for an arch mage. Still I've never felt power hesitate to come to my call, and I'm drawing power from that same latent energy- or so I assume. I have no idea why it is I've always had all the magical energies I've needed." He tilted his head to the side as she came up, and then he looked down at his tea, the green orbs vanishing all together. She blinked, tilting her head to the side and he looked at her as she reached forward and took the hand holding his teacup and squeezed it gently. He looked up to her cyan orbs and she smiled gently.

"I've seen first hand what demonic taint can do," she said, thinking of Grom Hellscream. "You've let magic become one of the most important factors in your life. Don't let it become more important then freedom. Don't let it become more important then your morals." She squeezed his hand gently. "But I understand. And I don't fault you- can't fault you. The choice you made was somewhat selfish, but you did it for the sake of your people. I understand." He was silent a long moment, before finally smiling, his hand leaving the teacup on its platter, and returning her light squeeze. Meekly.

"You still have high elves here that practice magic. How do they manage it?"

"They still have the magical addiction. They meditate each day to replenish their magical energies and to fight off the temptations of addiction. I practice most of their meditations- I've just never felt a need to do so." He nodded quietly.

"Perhaps you can teach me some of these techniques?" he said after a long moment.

"I would be happy to- especially if it would encourage you to visit more." He smiled lightly, nodding, but then stood.

"I should be going, however. I have taken up much of your time already."

"No, it's alright. I'm actually rather glad to have you here." He blinked and looked down at her, and then flinched inwardly, shoving away darker thoughts of conquest and power awaiting him. What kind of monster was he turning in to? Zul'vii's presence had reawakened spirit and hope within him, but he still couldn't shake the feeling that he had become more magic than elf. Sometimes his own thoughts scared him. He even possessed a diabolical and slightly mental sounding laugh, and the arrogance with which he carried himself stemmed from more than just a royal upbringing. Why was he thinking of all this now? Why now of all times? He- "In fact, I insist you stay awhile," she said, a stubborn smirk touching her mouth. Worries and fears slid away as he looked down at the young sorceress, like cool flood waters wiping away all that was detestable. He relaxed, and his thoughts and addictions stopped racing.

Jaina.

The two stood regarding one another, quietly, her gaze lifted to his, and his lowered to meet hers. Both were quiet, both lost in their own thoughts, subconsciously memorizing the curves and angles of eachother's faces. Instinct drew them closer, till their faces were almost touching.

"…Kael…" she murmured. The prince of Quel'Thalas blinked and then blushed scarlet, pulling back quickly and turning his gaze aside, coughing politely. Jaina Proudmoore blinked and watched him quietly a long, uncomfortable, awkward moment. She watched the Blood Elf hesitate, building up the will to excuse himself. She tilted her head to the side, and then moved forward slightly, touching his arm. He turned back to her quickly, startled, and blushed again, drawing back an inch.

"Miss Jaina, I apologize-"

"Kael'Thas…" The two fell silent again, examining one another, lost in memories and thoughts. The world had changed so dramatically since back then… since a friendly competition between a blonde human and a blonde elf, both princes, for the attention of a young princess… since the shy elf lost to the bold human…

So much had changed.

* * *

Andorhal  
(Several Months Later)

One might wonder why it was Euquin who tended Varimathras and not Zul'vii or Ketala. There were reasons for this. The first of which was that Zul'vii was currently down in the Blasted Lands, trying to loosen the demonic hold on the land. When Zul'vii came to the Eastern Kingdoms alone, she immediatly set off sound from Lordaeron down to Khas-Modan and the region of the Eastern Kingdoms commonly known as Azeroth(Which also happens to the be the planet's namesake). She was heading for the Searing Gorges, the Blasted Lands,the Badlands, and the Burning Steppes. Ketala had not seen her since.As for why Ketala was not there, the Plaguelands contained many other activities in which the leader of Andorhal often participated. She might have been infiltrating Scholomance, negotiating with the Scarlet Crusade, or skipping around the Eastern Plaguelands slaughtering all Scourge in her path. However, the real reason that Ketala was not tending to Varimathras was, in fact, because she had just stepped out of the inn. After waving to the polymorphed dragons that inhabited one nook of the inn, Ketala had immediatly headed downstairs and out the door. Upon exiting said establishment, she had been immediatly confronted by Nathanos Blightcaller. The Ranger had been waiting in the road, arms crossed over his chest, tapping the side of one axe against his arm. One of his eyebrows was arched, and he was grinning smugly.

She smiled when she saw him. "Come now," she said, perking up immediatly. "I'm sure you can appreciate the irony."

"Indeed. And the foolhearty mercy."

"Well yes, of course that. But that's part of the irony after all. Who better to save a demon than an angel?"

"Have you learned nothing from when you spared Kel'Thuzad?"

"Do you remember who fought Arthas off to free me- twice?" she retorted, grinning. The Ranger Lord snorted.

"Do you remember who betrayed us into Arthas's hands?"

"Not Kel'Thuzad. He only helped. The prime betrayer was Varimathras, and he has learned his lesson about trusting the lich King." She smirked. "as long as Varimathras believes himself caged on all sides, he is entirely unwilling to attempt a prison break. It is only right that he should be forced into helping retrieve Sylvanis, when the time comes."

"And then what?"

"In exchange for me saving his life..." she said, coming up to the ranger and walking beside him as the two headed off into Andorhal, "I made him promise two things. One of those was that he would help save Sylvanis. The other was that when she was saved, he would submit to whatever punishment she desired to bestow upon him, and then he would return to being her loyal servant." Nathanos eyed her.

"Sylvanis would simply kill him." Ketala shook her head, grinning at the Ranger.

"Sylvanis would not kill him."

"Oh?" Ketala grinned an evil and conniving grin that even the ranger could be proud of.

"because of how helpless he is. Sylvanis might be dead, but there are parts of her that are still very much elfi and alive. She kept Varimathras and promised to him that when he outlived his usefulness, she would not kill him."

"Why? The Dreadlord is a very dangerous 'ally'."

"Varimathras, since he could trust no one but the Dark Lady to prolong his life, was supposidly irrevocably loyal. That's why his betrayal stunned Sylvanis so. Because he needed her and could not _possibly_ survive without her, Sylvanis began to trust and rely on him in return."

"So you are saying she is emotionally attatched to him?" Ketala nodded deviously. "I learn more and more things with which to blackmail every day." Ketala chuckled, despite the fact that he was half serious. She had come to a strange acceptance of the Ranger.

"I need to visit Stormwind soon. Since_someone_ left the Apothecaries in charge of the Undercity," and here she gave Nathanos a reproachful look, for the Apothecaries were the most desensitized and sadistic of the Forsaken populace, "I need to make sure the trade and cease-fire arrangements are holding out."

"there are other reasons you are going. You are not a politician."

"I have friends there," she admitted. "And errands to run. There are certain things the Undercity alone cannot help me with. I also want to infiltrate Scholomance, so I am going to need things- like an armor turne- up," she regarded her white plate. "Anyway, do you want to come? I'm thinking of getting you a new puppy whether you come with me or not."

He regarded her incredulously, as if she had inquired whether or not he were an orc."

"No, really, we can find the fellow who sent those Alliance to kill you, buy you some new dogs, and prove that if you wanted to, you could assasinate the king."

"Can I really assassinate the king?"

"No, he's a child. Remember the rule against child-killing?" A grin split over the Ranger's face. "Besides, we might be able to recover your old axes. I know how you liked them so much more then the ones you are using now..." The Ranger pondered this a long moment. "It will be a quick trip, I should think, and you'll get plenty of opporunities to get people to run after us with torch and pitchfork." Ordinarily, Nathanos would have snarled at the offer and stalked away. However, with acceptance of Ketala came a loss of defiance in himself. his mind was cleared and logical again, and since there were good reasons to go to Stormwind, and no good reasons not to go to Stormwind, he went.

* * *

(Cont. Someweeks later)

"How about a pitbull? They can latch on to things with extreme power."

"A pitbull is dangerous against only opponent, and it has no agility or finesse whatsoever.

"Right, then. A poodle?"Nathanos went so far as to stop and stare at her. Beneath her helm, Ketala's entire face lifted in a laughing grin. "What? They are intelligent and stylish, can be trained to be mean-"

He cuffed her over the head. "Don't ask stupid questions." She laughed softly as the two of them continued walking. "So, you want finesse and agility? Why not try a cat?"

He pondered the suggestion, seriously considering it. "I doubt we will find a feline of the necessary size in Stormwind."

"Then we'll take a boat to Teldrassil."

"That would take awhile."

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I have forgotten to ask. .Are you busy this time of year?"

"Not at all. I simply find the lack of death disturbing."

"I could spar with you to keep you entertained."

"Indeed. The plan coalesces."

"Oh, look. The Temple of Light."

"Hiss. It burns."

Ketala grinned at him from beneath her plate, and then continued on towards the great temple. "Come, let's see how holy the defenses of this place really are." Nathanos said nothing, simply following her up the grandiose steps. Step after step. They were smooth marble, and a statue rose between the two sets, standing prominently before the temple. No holy light yet impeded his process. Up the steps, through the pillars. He could feel Ketala's mirth. She was not gauging this temple's reaction to him. She was gauging how miserably this building failed in comparison to the power that kept Nathanos from entering Uther's tomb. The two reached the arching doorways and entered.

More minds. Through Ketala, and through his own honed senses, Nathanos could feel the shades around them. They drifted around the temple, spying and keeping an eye on this most holy of places in Stormwind. More of her minions. No holy light opposed him, just as it had never opposed a shade of Ketala's, Sylvanis's, or the Lich King's. Hmm, apparently Ketala already knew that Uther's tomb reacted far more powerfully against the undead than this temple did. What had she meant about measuring the temple's defenses, then?

This temple was old and massive and powerful. Unlike the temples of the Scarlet Crusade, Nathanos could feel the waves of holy energy rolling about within this establishment of the Silver Hand. Ketala seemed strengthened the moment she set foot in the arching doorways. However, the temple could not defend itself. This place was not quite hallowed, and did not possess the holy strength that Uther's tomb did. It could not seal him out, and, for that reason, it was vulnerable .the cult of the damned could hide within its walls, and it could not strike out against them. Nathanos himself had been able to step inside, and he was an enemy of the Alliance- no, he was the rightful leader of the Undercity! The temple, and in fact the entire city of Stormwind, was vulnerable to infiltration by its enemies.

It was almost as if Ketala flaunted the faults of this holy place. This building, the core headquarters of her entire religion and way of life, was vulnerable, and yet she showed him all its weaknesses as one would show off the details of a prized painting. He was puzzled and intrigued by how carefree she was in the face of this temple's obvious deficiencies. Ketala led him past the guards and paladins that kept watch over the temple, and not a single one looked at Nathanos with suspicion. The only time they eyed them was to marvel at Ketala's exotic full plate, and to ponder her identity among themselves. Only when they were deep inside the temple did a paladin even stop them, and this was because he recognized Ketala. He greeted her warmly, walking with them and speaking with her of events in the Plaguelands and developments in Sithilis.

Within moments they were approaching the paladin training complex, and never once had anything- from the holiness of the temple to the senses of the paladins- betrayed or repelled Nathanos Blightcaller.

Ketala acutely sensed every shade. There must have even been one there that way loyal to the Undercity or Arthas, for he felt her directing her own shades to seize it. She was trying to prove a point. As much as she recognized with these paladins, she was showing _him_ that _she_ was different from them. The light was with her as it was not with them. Her holy senses picked up the shades that the paladins thought could not possibly be there. She felt the vulnerabilities in this order just as keenly as Nathanos did, and she attributed it to Uther's death. The Silver Hand had all but collapsed when Utehr died. Now the order struggled just to survive, and faith and hope were much harder to come by, replaced instead by hatred and bigotry. This place, which at one time had been so sacred to the light, now was flawed.

But not her. She was different. A true paladin was different. She proclaimed that fact to Nathanos, showing off the idea that a paladin _could_ be a crusader for what was good- not just a warrior with a holy book.

They walked out into the practice court, where young boys were training with sword and shield. Here, Nathanos was at last found out. A large boy with dark eyes and a quiet face turned to look at them. His sparring partner, a small blonde elf, smacked him smartly on the side, but he seemed not to notice. The quiet boy merely watched Nathanos and Ketala, and the ranger could not contain a chuckle at the beautiful irony. The leader of the Undercity had walked through the Stormwind temple of the Light, right under the noses of the most powerful paladins in the order, and the only human in the place that could sense him was a child. He wondered briefly if Arthas's evil aura would have given him away, or if the Lord of the Scourge could have attempted a similar stunt.

Although Nathanos seemed not to be entirely evil. In the pet stored, animals had come willingly and delightedly to his hand…

The boy regarded them for a moment and then stepped away from his bewildered elfin sparring partner, going up to the head of the practice drills- a large, red-haired man who sported a great warhammer. After a moment, that man came up to them, reaching them around halfway across the field, but a scowl was not written on his face. Instead, he smiled at Ketala from beneath a mane, moustache, and beard of silvered red hair.

"Ket! It has been months since I last saw you! A year I should think!"

"Ander!" she said delightedly, running up to the man and hugging him; in return, he picked her an inch or so off the ground.

"Ah! It is good to see you against lass," he said as he gently set her down. "How are things in the north?"

"Gray," she remarked thoughtfully, and he laughed, patting her on the shoulder."

"I expected you would be busy now. Why are you here in Stormwind?"

"On errands, and for visitation purposes."

"Will you be remaining long?"

"Unlikely. AS soon as I have finished everything that needs to be done, I will be heading back to the Plaguelands. Relations are still very tentative with the Scarlet Crusade, the leader of the Undercity got bored and left, and there's a giant torturous dungeon located across my scenic backyard lake."

Ander chuckled lightly, lifting a red brow.

"The leader of the Undercity got bored and left," he inquired.

"Yes, he's standing behind me." Ander tensed, blinking at the Ranger. "Which leads me to another thing I've got to talk to you and Gydrion about. There have always been shades in the temple. I root them out with shade I already have at my disposal, so Arthas and the Undercity have never been able to get much effective spying done. Then there was that one time at the castle, when a banshee had possessed one of Anduin's advisors…"

"You do not think Stormwind is safe…"

"No. I think it is being far too easily infiltrated. And paladins automatically assume that no undead can enter this holy place." She shook her head. "Not so- at least, not any more. Something's eating away at the hallowedness of these halls- whether it is lack of faith, or whether it comes from some outside cause. Or whether it's just the fact that Uther is gone." She shrugged. "Uther's tomb, seated behind Andorhal, will repel any undead but myself and Leonid – The Argent Dawn paladin, you remember? – And the Silver Hand almost collapsed after Uther's death. Now this temple's integrity seems weakened."

"You attribute the loss of the holy energy to problems with our teachings?"

"Perhaps…" she said slowly. "I think it to be a combination of things. Paladins have always been the harbingers of justice, truth, and honor. We fight only to defend. Now everything is all bogged down with ceremony, and tied far too intricately with things like politics. A paladin now is simply like a warrior with a holy book. The elites of our order have forgotten their duty to unobstructed justice. When the orcs were possessed by demons, this place was sacred and impenetrable. However, now they are no longer possessed, and we keep fighting them, using our faith as our justification." She smiled lightly. "I know the boy who recognized me."

"He was one of your friends, wasn't he? And the elf beside him, Qkiloden, was as well?" She nodded.

"Do you not find it interesting that the only one to recognize him," she gestured at Nathanos, "was one of the only people who accepted me, an undead? Someone unjudging, with no prejudices to speak of? Do you not find it interesting that the boy who recognized us was one of the only ones who would calmly go to you in order to report what he sensed?" Ander had fallen quiet, and he had a strange look on his face as he regarded Ketala.

"You feel we have lost the true reason we should be paladins." It was not a question, and so Ketala did not deny or replace it with kinder words. She merely looked out at the practicing boys and she smiled to herself.

"Uther was not perfect, but his ideas ran very close to the course of true justice. I think you should follow him."

"Uther is dead now."

"Yet his tomb is hallowed, at his place is not." Ander took a moment to comprehend, and when he did, he eyed her even more closely.

"You want to build a new temple over his tomb."

"And to concentrate the paladins on the undead and demonic forces around Blackrock and Deadwind."

"The project you speak of would take decades and there would be no incentive to go up to the Plaguelands."

"Perhaps not," she conceded. "But perhaps it will encourage some to come _down_ from them."

"Crusaders."

"Yes. And perhaps when there are paladins fighting in the Plaguelands that are not mindlessly fanatical, it will draw paladins from Stormwind up to join the cause. I will build a beacon of Light in Andorhal. What the world does with it will not be my concern."

"That's the main reason you came. You need supplies, trade, engineers."

"And support."

"And support," he said softly, looking down at his and Gydrion's protégée with amazement. "You really mean to go through with this."

"I really mean to go through with this. Now, if you were an undead Ranger, what would you take as an animal companion." He blinked.

"Pardon?" She jerked her thumb at Nathanos.

"He's a ranger. His hounds died, so we are trying to find him new pets. If you could have any pet in the world, and you were a slightly crazy undead ranger, what would it be?"

Ander blinked, looking at Nathanos, sizing him up, marking the elegant bow, the jagged axes, the dark graceful steps…

"A very large spider."

"Oooooooh! A Dreadmist spider?"

"It has possibility," the Ranger agreed, the first time he had spoken since entering the temple. "How about we have our Apothecary friends make a spider-hound hybrid?"

"That… would be cool…" She allowed a moment to think on the possibilities, but then had to admonish him. "Except that's a minor version of all the reasons why we're laying siege to Scholomance."

"True… true…"

"And such a thing would not be even rudimentarly natural. With your luck, it would turn out exactly like me." He shuddered visibly.

"Dreadmist spiders it is, then." Ketala smiled and turned to Ander.

"May I interrupt practice to say hello?"

"Just this once, seeing as you are busy." She smiled and nodded, and then jogged up to the practice session. She was instantly met by three boys- an elf, the large, quiet boy that had recognized him, and a small weasel-ly looking human.

Nathanos was not surprised when she turned and beckoned to him, but he could see no profit in joining her, and so he remained, watching her talk avidly with her three friends. He was surprized when she led them up to him and introduced him- that the one known as Qkiloden recognized his name... He was surprized at the awe that followed it- the good reputation- the friendly shake of a hand. Qkiloden was younger in measure of maturity then the others, but only because of his elfin lifespan. He was also much older then either of his two human companions, and he had lived in Quel'Thalas most of his life.

It had never occured to Nathanos that he had ever been a hero. But then, until quite recently, he had never dreamed that some things were worth sacrificing for.

* * *

Darnassus  
(Much Time Later)

"Ember! _EMBER!_" The Nightelfin mother was forced to scramble forward. She seized onto the small girl, yanking the child off of her brother. The young girl, to whom the name 'Ember' belonged to', hissed and screamed. She managed to allude her m other's grip, and again seized onto her brother's face, her tiny fingernails drawing blood. She simultaneously slugged him and bit hard onto one of his ears, grabbing his hair and yanking.

"EMBER!"

Tyrande, the Nightelf female trying to disengage the two, bodily grabbed the small girl around the stomach, pried back her jaw, and ripped her off of her brother. Ember was then shoved roughly into the ground. The little girl hissed and screamed, but the high priestess held her fast. The little boy, was crying and sputtering out tears and blood, but Tyrande could do nothing. She knew Ember's tantrums too well. The boy was better off untended, for as soon as Tyrande released Ember, the girl would attempt to attack him again.

Ember screamed, her bright amber eyes showing anger and hatred, and her fingers striving to find Tyrande's skin through her armor. The girl fought as if she could tear into her mother's arms and force her away, but she was sorely outmatched. The high priestess managed to pin her with one arm and then swatted the child on the side of the head, knocking her out. As horrible as it seemed, there was no other way. Even Tyrande's holy powers could not pacify the small girl.

When she was sure Ember was unconscious, Tyrande released her and turned to the little boy. Gathering the wounded child into her arms, Tyrande crooned to him and bathed him in holy energy, shaking her head despairingly as the boy clung to her and sobbed.

"Hush… hush…" she whispered softly. "It is alright, Fenuin, shh… I'm here… I'm here…"

"Mah… Mahme…" the small child managed through broken sobs. Tyrande clutched him tightly and shut her eyes. This had gone on too long… She needed to do something with Ember. Something.

Fenuin did not deserve this.

* * *

Feedback!

So, read the intro if you didn't and lemme know- should I cut this story off and jump immediatly into the sequal (which would pretty much start up from where this story leaves off)?

And how did you like this chapter? Lemme know! REVIEW OR I SHALL NOT UPDA- oh who am I kidding, of course I'll update. ..

... REVIEW OR MY FEELINGS SHALL BE HURT! **YARG!**

... Dang that was a weak line...


	38. Well That's One Way to Do Things

Really Yeth? I'm hurt. Here I was straying to my feminine romantic roots, and my efforts went unappreciated hehehehe. Anyway, in this chapter we find out what's to be done with Ember, Tyrande's crazy female child... And we finally resolve what on earth is going on between Nathanos and Ketala, and can move on to other subjects. Yay.

By the way. This one's a long one.

* * *

_**Well, That's One Way to Do Things...**_

* * *

Felwood

"Lord Illidan? The Jadefire Satyrs are posing a problem-"

"Lord Illidan-?"

"Wait a moment!"

"The Satyrs are posing a severe problem simply because we cannot root them out of their holes. If I had more forces-"

"Lord Illidan, I am sorry, but it is urgent-"

"WHAT?"

"The Lady Vashj requests reinforcements at the sea. Her forces have been attacked by Felguard."

"Have Kael'Thas deal with it. There will be warlocks behind the Felguard, and his people will be more suited to dealing with them-"

"But my lord, Kael himself is still in-"

"NOW!"

"Yes my lord."

"Now-"

"The Satyrs are-"

"My lord Illidan, Felbeasts coming from the west!"

Illidan was not doing so well. The wound in his chest ached, he had a splitting headache, the squabbles of his minions were ceaseless, and Felwood seemed as if it would never be tamed. Worse, without Zul'vii's mending aura holding his people together, it took a massive effort to keep the peace. Needless to say, the proximity of Moonglade was very welcomed, especially as he could easily glide up to the beautiful glade in order to sort his thoughts out. Though Illidan saw nothing in the stars, the empty void of the night sky was always relaxing and quiet, and so he speant many long hours just gazing up at the empty black depths of space. For many months, moonglade was elysium. It held all the serenity of laying beneath tropical waters and gazing up at the light filtering through the cerulean waves.

This is also why when a scout owl disturbed his blind stargazing one night, he nearly blew it out of the sky in rage at the disturbance. However, on closer examination, he noticed the aura around the owl was blazing white and very familiar.

… Tyrande? The owl circled above him for a few moments, hooting, and then began heading off, in the direction of Nighthaven. Was Tyrande in Nighthaven? Had she sent the owl to invite him for a visit? Or perhaps she needed his help with some matter- perhaps some new war or conflict had come up.

It wasn't like the reason ever mattered. He was up in the air immediately, following the bird. Moonglade was fairly large, and Nighthaven was hours away, but he soared ahead of the owl, reaching Nighthaven long before the owl ever would. His presence, as always, caused a stir among the populace. The druids did not appreciate his presence, and some of the novices needed to be assured by their elders that he was no enemy. Immediately he found a higher ranking Tauran and demanded in Common if Tyrande was there. When he received an affirmative action, he went immediately to her normal living quarters. He reached the tree-like structure, dunked his head to get beneath the arched doorframe, and took a single step inside…

He froze dead in his tracks, staring at the scene before him. Tyrande sat cross-legged, a small, green-haired child in her arms. His face was a little lupine, like Illidan's or Malfurion's, but his silver eyes bore markings similar to Tyrande's, and his smile reminded Illidan far more of the High Priestess then it did of his twin or himself. The sorcerer's breath caught in his throat. He had to grip the doorframe tightly to steady himself. Tyrande looked up from where Ember and Fenuin were playing, alerted to Illidan's arrival by the sound of his talons digging deep into the wooden frame of her doorway.

"…Illidan…" she murmured, picking up the boy and slowly, gracefully standing, her eyes focusing on his blindfold- on where his eyes _should_ have been.

"… You… sent your owl for me…?" he breathed after a long and uncomfortable silence.

"… Yes… I had a favor to ask of you and… When I sensed you in Moonglade, so close, there was hardly a reason not… to introduce you." She looked down at the little boy, giving him a little comfortable bounce. "… Illidan, this is Fenuin…. Fenuin, this is your uncle Illidan."

Illidan, even though his hide was paper white to begin with, somehow managed to pale, stepping back involuntarily. Accepting that Tyrande and Furion were and always would be in love was one thing. He could delude himself into forgetting it, or at least convince himself it didn't matter, that maybe one day she _could_ love him… But this… This tore asunder that method of coping. A child! Tyrande had a child! His _brother's_ child-!

"Mother?" Illidan whipped his head an inch to the side, staring as Ember (twins!) stood and came up, and his lips parted.

He was staring into his own face. Through his demonhunter vision, he could see every trait. Violet, lupine, slender features, thick, violet blue mane, brilliant amber eyes. This child, this girl, looked exactly like him! No- no! Not exactly like him! The shape of her face was heart-like, and there was silver in her hair!

She was his child. She was the child he would never have- a hybridization of his own features and of Tyrande's. If this girl had not been Fenuin's twin, Tyrande might have been accused of having an affair with her husband's brother.

It was far too much for the poor demonhunter to handle. He snarled, whirling around, and ready to bolt. He could not have remained there a moment longer.

"Illidan- wait, please."

Despite the thought he had possessed seconds earlier about not remaining, he froze, shivering. He heard Tyrande stand and come over to him; felt her touch his arm gently. Moments later her somehow had Fenuin thrust into his arms and he gasped quietly, almost dropping the child. Tyrande caught his arms, holding them and the little boy up. He froze up, just staring at the little boy in his arms, no expression on his face. In turn, the small child gazed up at him quietly, his head inclined to the side. Overwhelmed, the demonhunter held still, feeling as Tyrande moved one of his hands over the boy's green hair, stroking it gently.

"… Ty-… Tyrande…" the demonic elf whispered quietly, almost choking on the word.

"Please Illidan, sit down. Don't go."

He could not have disobeyed had he wanted to. He let her guide him to a sit and he promptly sank into it, holding Fenuin as gently as he could, shivering lightly.

".. I wasn't sure how to tell you," she said after a long moment. "I was worried it would upset you, and so I put it off, always hoping to find a better time." Gently, slowly, she pulled Fenuin from him and set the boy on the ground, telling him to go play with Ember. The boy blinked and obeyed in his quiet fashion, and Tyrande sat down in a chair opposite to Illidan. "… I need to ask a favor of you Illidan." He lifted his blind gaze from Fenuin and Ember to her, focusing on her face. Slowly he began to relax.

"… Anything, Tyrande. What is it you need of me?" he murmured in a strained voice. There was no other answer. He would do anything for her. Tyrande sighed, looking down at her own hands, and then over at the children.

"… The girl, Ember. Do you see anything wrong with her?" Illidan swallowed and did look.

"She looks like me?" Tyrande shook her head vigorously.

"No- I mean, do you see anything more deeply wrong with her?" The demonhunter paused, puzzled a moment, looking at Ember and unsure of what Tyrande expected him to see.

It was only then that he noticed the aura that his shock had repressed. It was only then that he noticed the thick underlying darkness present in the little girl.

"… Do you see demonic taint?" Tyrande questioned softly. Illidan looked back at the High Priestess, silent a moment, wondering what was hidden in the slight trembling of her voice.

"… What happened, Tyrande?"

"I don't know," she replied quickly, her voice breaking up. He almost jumped when he noticed she was crying; Each tear that rolled down hit him like a poisonous, stabbing blade. He had not seen her so emotional since Furion had awoken. Ten thousand years of quiet vigil had hardened her heart as well as strengthened her sword arm. Seeing her so upset was a testimony to both maternal instinct in itself, and to the fact that something was indeed very wrong. "I don't know. Since Ember's been old enough to crawl, occasionally something will happen that upsets hers. She- she goes into a sort of fury, immediately attacking whomever is closest to her." The High Priestess took in a shuddering breath and looked directly at Illidan, regaining her illustrious composure. "Normally, it's Fenuin. Nothing I do will stop her. I have to knock her out to stop her from fighting. When she wakes up, she's the same as ever. A few weeks ago she clawed open thick bloody welts in his face. And what's worse is that I have tried everything to help her. I fear Mother Moon has abandoned me," she continued softly, looking down at her feet. "I fear I have done something to make her find me unworthy. All my prayers have been in vain. Neither eye nor any of my sisters have been able to purge whatever is in Ember."

Illidan's brow furrowed, his heart relaxing in its fluttering as his mind became occupied. Elune had certainly not abandoned Tyrande. The silvery white essence of the moon goddess accompanied Tyrande everywhere. If Tyrande could not even fight the demonic taint in Ember, then there was an insanely great and powerful force seizing the little girl. It was no wonder Tyrande had turned him to him. He knew more about demons then anyone- with the possible exception of the Human Guardian Medivh that he had been told so much about.

"… Elune has not abandoned you, sweet Tyrande."

"Then what can it be? What is powerful enough to hold Ember like this?"

The possibilities were not pleasant.

"She has always been like this?" he inquired.

"Since she was old enough to move," Tyrande reestablished, lowering her head.

"Then she has been corrupted from the womb." Suddenly Medivh did not seem such a horrible example to compare the situation to. Illidan sat up a bit straighter, frowning with worry. "… The last time that happened resulted in the second invasion of the Burning Legion. Sargeras himself poisoned the child of a human charge with safeguarding our world. I do not know the final details, but if Ember's situation is anything at all alike to it, something must be done."

"… What, though?" The High Priestess questioned. Illidan opened his mouth to respond, and then shut it, reconsidering.

"… The Humans will know more about what Sargeras did to create Medivhthan I do. Perhaps their mages can be of assistance in determining what to do with her."

"Jaina Proudmoore." The demon hunter nodded.

"Yes. Perhaps she will be of some aid. Are there any other symptoms of this corruption?"

"She-" There was a high pitched squeal from the child. Immediately, Tyrande was up and rushing over. "Ember!" Illidan stood quickly, alarmed, and then stared as Ember pounced on her brother. He flung up a hand to deflect her and she immediately bit onto that hand, bones crunching between her teeth. She was clawing at his eyes and face, screaming from between clenched teeth. Then Tyrande was there, trying to pull her free.

By Elune, was this what he was turning in to? This savage, horrible creature? He grit his teeth and dashed forward, reaching down and grabbing Ember by the hair. He could feel the energy in her and he fed off of it, leeching it in. Her eyes opened wide and she screamed, clawing at him instead, but due to the grip on her hair she could not get her head back to bite him. She clawed and screamed, jerking wildly to get free and even tearing some of her hair out in the process. Tiny explosions were going off in Illidan's brain from a hundred million tiny attacks, but he stood firm, gripping her hair tightly.

"Oh Mother Moon, Illidan, please take her!" The demonhunter jerked his head to look at Tyrande, confused. "Take her! Please Illidan, take her and determine what can be done!" the High Priestess continued, picking up Fenuin and holding his mangled hand tenderly, healing it. "Please! Please Illidan, she cannot stay here any longer! She'll kill him! Please, I beg of you!" The demonhunter looked back down at Ember, watching the demonic energy contort and writhe in her, her whole face alight with mindless, horrid fury. He looked back to Tyrande, noting the tears and determination in her eyes. "Please, Illidan. There is nothing more I can do for her. I dare not trust anyone else with her, and I cannot leave Fenuin here alone nor leave Darnassus. Please. Please."

He stooped and wrapped one arm around Ember's middle, picking her up and holding her tightly, almost crushingly under one arm. He breathed in deeply, and nodded, needing to get out of that place anyway in order that he might think and organized his thoughts. Besides, he was the best one to do it. He could generate a portal straight to Theramore Isle. That, and he was arguably the greatest sorcerer whom ever walked the surface of Kalimdor. If the humans could not aid him in this endeavor, then he would purge the child himself.

For Tyrande. Always for Tyrande.

He emerged from the portal out into the wilderness of Moonglade, and looked quietly down at the struggling, furious Night Elf child under his one arm. He set her down and she launched herself at him, screaming and clawing. He caught her, holding her upside down, and still she raged, and raged. He lifted a brow and then set about to gathering some dead wood and starting a small fire, careful to keep it unnoticeable.

The whole time, she struggled. In Illidan's very limited experience, children shouldn't have so much energy. Sure, they had a TON of energy… but so much? She was upside down, thrashing, for over a half hour straight. He was just about to hit her over the head when she managed to curl her body up, grab onto his hand, and bite down hard. He grunted, hurling her away from him, and she landed with a thud against a tree. Unfazed, she charged him again- much to his surprise- and he had to catch her once more and pin her down.

For how many hours did she thrash? He lost count. When she finally did stop, there was no gradual weakening. She fought like a lion until not even her massive adrenaline rush could keep her conscious, and, quite abruptly, she fell unconscious.

This could take some time…

* * *

Durotar

Thrall blinked, looking at the strange creature that followed Cairne into the meeting hall. It was quite small, with silver-white hair that held just enough sheen to seem like mercury or some precious, enchanted mooncloth. The creature was also dressed in the light leathers of a Tauran brimmed with feathers more common to the garb of a Nightelfin druid. Immediately, the Warchief felt the profound natural energy surrounding the girl. The spirits of the earth and air swarmed about her, surrounding her with their powerful presences, fueled by the life and strength she radiated.

Were it not for that aura, he would not have recognized this strange creature as a different form of the equine beast he and Jaina had found wounded in Mulgore.

"Cairne! It is good to see you!" the Warchief greeted, standing up and coming over the much larger and older Tauran, a smile on his rough green features.

"Greetings, young Warchief," the elder Tauran said with a smile on his own worn muzzle. "It is always an honor to come to this city- for business or for visitation."

"And it is always an honor to have you here, elder," the orc leader returned, gripping the Tauran's hand warmly and patting him on the shoulder- a rougher and more suitable greeting than a weak human handshake.

"I have brought someone who was desirous of meeting your people," the Tauran said in return, pulling back and ushering the small girl forward. "This is Aweo. The Night Elves and my own people have taken turns sheltering her. Do you perhaps recognize the equine child you brought to me from the plains of Mulgore?"

"Indeed, I do," the green-skinned leader responded, smiling and squatting down to the little girl's level. She blinked, and at first eyed him timidly, as if she were a shy dear.

The spirits were strong about her, and bursting with life. Aweo seemed to be a physical incarnation of nature and energy in itself…

As if recognizing some kindred trait in him, Aweo suddenly shifted to regard him more fully and boldly. She even stepped forward, lifting a small white hand to his face and touching it gently, curiously. Her fingers were as soft as goose feathers, and her eyes wide and innocently. In return, the orc smiled gently, inoffensively. This girl was one of those beings to whom one's acceptance made a great deal. If she were to pronounce a person satisfactory, than that person _was_ satisfactory, and could be quite secure in that notion.

The single-horned girl smiled and then gasped as he suddenly seized her under the arms and hoisted her into the air. When he gave her a little toss, she gave an exclamation of happy delight, and both grown orc and strange child laughed when he caught her again and sat her on his shoulders. The little girl giggled happily, and held tightly onto the orc's mane of hair, looking around curiously from her new vantage point.

The shamanistic Warchief was most certainly satisfactory.

"Are the others here yet?" the great Tauran inquired as the two moved back into the throne room.

"Vol'jin, as you can see, is here. So is Miss Proudmoore."

"I expected the Lady Jaina to be last," the Tauran replied with a chuckle. "It seems my old bones are moving slower and slower these days."

"Miss Jaina has been visiting periodically. I gifted to her one of our wolves, and she has been coming here for instruction on how to care for him. Today she arrived early insisting that someone teach her how to groom him, as he had gotten himself into a burr plant." The Tauran chuckled and then blinked, standing at attention, as Vol'jin burst out howling with laughter. Thrall also turned his head to see where the thrilled Troll was pointing, and was greeting by a sight so horrific, only an act of will kept him from loosing his lunch.

Jaina had arrived and was leading her little puppy, Mathghamhuin. The small animal had been groomed, and now sported a spiffy and militaristic-looking style. However, she was also leading Snowsong. The great female wolf looked greatly appeased. Her fur had been fully brushed out- every tangle and snarl gone. However, with this development, the fur had proved far longer than it normally looked. With a bout of innate creativity (and perhaps a bit of sadism) Jaina had decided to put up Snowsong's hair. The wolf was now covered in bright purple and white bows from snout to tail. The Lady Proudmoore might have picked the color pink to do her insidious work, but pink was a color not readily available in orc society.

Thrall gave a guttural sound of dismay, his jaw hanging open. "Woman!" he exclaimed at last, stalking up and trying to keep a rage-filled fast even though the corners of his mouth kept twitching up. His appearance was not helped by the fact that he had an adorable child riding on his shoulders with a fistful of his hair in one hand. "What in the Twisting Nether have you done!"

"SnowSong needed a bath, and she just looked too adorable not to dress up nicely. What's wrong? Don't you think she's pretty?" Snowsong (to the discredit of all those who claim Frostwolves are unintelligent) closed her mouth and made a reproachful noise at Thrall, as if chastising him for even being associated with the idea that she was not pretty. She was in on the game.

"You too?" he gasped, whirling on her with mock hurt on his face. Snowsong smiled. "Women!" he exclaimed with a disgusted tone. "I have been betrayed from the inside out! My own War-mount sides with humans and- and frilly things!"

Vol'jin might have ruptured something with how hard he was hooting.

Jaina just bowed, happy to be of service, and then set up a teleport spell around herself. Thrall lunged for her, but did not catch her before the impervious shield of her spell stopped him

"I see what is going on!" he exclaimed. "A hit and run operation! Dishonor! Dishonor on your whole family!" Jaina Proudmoore winked before she vanished, leaving Thrall grinning and sighing. He picked Aweo off his shoulders and set her down, patting her gently on the head, and then turned back to Snowsong, eyeing her sternly. She just smiled, wagging her tail, her tongue lolling out of her mouth.

"Traitor," he insisted. When Vol'jin finally stopped his laughing long enough to come over, he grinned toothily at Thrall.

"She be part of the family now, eh Warchief? Never thought a nation of orcs would ever take so strongly to a human. Nor their leader!" and at this he winked. Thrall blinked, eying the crafty witchdoctor and wondering how much of his words were intentionally ambiguous. Cairne smiled and came up, resting the but of his massive axe on the ground.

"She indeed is becoming a common sight around Orgrimmar. I for one am glad for her presence. She lifts the graven attitude that normally settles over all our meetings, and the future begins to look brighter. Perhaps one day soon Alliance and Horde shall again join to fight off evil from these lands." The Tauran allowed a wide smile to spread over his face. "And it is good to see you smile again, young Warchief."

"Yes," agreed Vol'jin, "small annoying humans seem to be healthy for you! You should indulge more often." Thrall's black brown furrowed as he attempted to decipher what the two were getting at, but he was not given time.

The tell-tale portal runes wound up around the floor, and Thrall whirled back to them, just in time to see Jaina appear along with her father and a blood elf that stood almost as tall as the orc did. Both the Admiral and the Elf immediately tensed, regarding the orc with suspicion, even though he had made no hostile movements. Quickly gauging that the time from play was over, the Warchief straightened himself, cast a despairing glance at his mount, and then gave a light nod to the elf and Admiral.

"Kael, this is Thrall, Warchief of the Horde," Jaina said, stepping forward and gesturing to orcish leader. "Thrall, this is Kael'Thas, leader of the Bloodelves." Both men nodded, sizing one another up. It was not Kael's face, however, that suddenly gained a frown, and Jaina had to wonder why Thrall was so displeased.

"I thank you for coming to speak of peace with us," the orc leader said politely, regardless of his personal feelings. "There is no reason for our people to feud any longer. Perhaps we can settle this matter once and for all." The elf nodded in return.

"My people see enough war as it is," he replied, his musical voice slightly hoarse from his own sufferings. "Although we have innate reservations against the Horde," he continued, turning his dark green orbs on Vol'jin, "we are willing to give peace a try." Thrall took no offense, turning his head to eye the Troll.

"Him? Ha! He is not so bad, elf. Had you seen him moments earlier, he would still have been howling over miss Proudmoore's _wonderful_," and here his sarcasm was amiable in nature, "view on what my War-mount should look like." Both the Elf Prince and Admiral blinked uncomprehendingly a moment. Then the Warchief whistled and purple-bowed Snowsong trotted up to him.

Kael immediately had to lower his head and cough, putting a hand to his mouth, and his shoulders shook with silent chuckles. The Admiral just looked rather amazed. Thrall grumbled. "And now she brings you here so I cannot chastise her. Women!" he exclaimed again. Jaina giggled and called Math to her, smiling as the puppy jumped up into her arms, licking her face and looking proud and regal in his new groomed fur.

Thrall eyed her with evil glee. A moment later, Snowsong attempted to follow Math, and ended up just burying Jaina in a pile of fur. She gave a muffled yelp and curse and the orc burst out roaring with laughter. Ignoring the fact that both Kael and Daelin looked ready to jump on him and stab him repeatedly with whatever was currently available, Thrall walk walked past them and half picked up Snowsong. To either Kael or the Admiral, lifting the wolf would have been a tedious affair, but the great orc hoisted up the wolf like one would a commonly domesticated hound. He grabbed Jaina by the scruff of the neck and pulled her out, hoisting her into the air and holding her, all flustered, up at eyelevel. She blinked and grumbled, crossing her arms and sticking her tongue out at him.

She might have sicked her water elemental on him then and there, but there were visitors to impress. He seemed to understand this as well, and when Snowsong got up, he deftly sat her on the wolf and grinned toothily, turning back to the blood elf.

"My apologies, leader of the Bloodelves, but there was a score to settle between myself and the Sorceress of Theramore Isle."

"No offence taken," the elf replied. "I woke up with pink hair this morning."

* * *

Stormwind

Ketala must have desired to humor Nathanos, for she did not immediately head back into the trade districts. Instead she walked right into Stormwind Keep. She was greeted immediately by a man whom Ketala identified by the name of Locke. He escorted them up into the Throne area of the Keep, talking quietly with her. As they reached King Anduin, the King's protector Highlord Bolvar Fordragon looked up at them and narrowed his eyes.

Well, at least there was a real paladin in the world _besides_ Ketala and that damnable Leonid. His hand immediately rested on his sword hilt and his eyes flicked to Ketala, a frown forming on his face. Ketala and Locke halted walking and Locke stepped ahead of her.

"Highlord Fordragon," he said with a small bow. He stood and gestured to Ketala and she stepped forward, removing her helm and bowed, much to the Highlord's surprise, her limp black hair sliding in front of her shoulders. "Lady Ketala Truae, leader of the free undead of Andorhal. Made a paladin by Thel'danis, the keeper of Uther the Lightbringer's Tomb." Ketala tried not to look surprised by her list of credentials as she straightened herself back up. It had never occurred to her that she could be dubbed 'lady' or that she was anything phenomenal in the realm of social standing. The Highlord blinked, regarding her quietly a long moment.

"I recall your face," he said at length.

"The Highlord would remember Ketala as the undead Gydrion brought in with the plea that she be allowed to study at the Cathedral. I and my men found her on a return mission to Stormwind. She slaughtered several abominations- saving my group- and later reversed several Banshee possessions when we were attacked by the Forsaken."

"And the banshee in one of my own councilors," the Highlord continued, his face unreadable and his eyes meeting Ketala's without the slightest flinch. After a moment, he moved his hand from his blade hilt and extended it. "Welcome back to Stormwind, Lady Truae." She smiled, her face lighting up with inner life, and took the offered hand, shaking it firmly.

"It is a pleasure to return."

"If it would not be impolite, might I know why you are here?"

"Several reasons," she said amiably. "To visit those I have not seen in a long time. To find an architect to build me a cathedral over Uther's tomb-" at this, Fordragon blinked with surprise, " and to speak with you about relations with the Undercity."

"A cathedral?"

"Yes. Uther's tomb has an aura that dispels all evil and undeath around it. I thought it only fitting that a bastion against the Scourge be built there. I believe it would also help with relationships between the Forsaken and Stormwind because it would give the two factions an opportunity to work side by side against a common foe. Besides, there should be some tribute to the holy light in that land that does not come from fanatics filled to the brim with hatred."

"Well-spoken."

"In regards to the Undercity- their leadership is currently in chaos because of the conflict in Northrend. A hierarchy for leadership was not in place. With Sylvanis missing , Varimathras would have evidently lorded over them- with supervision by other undead of course. Unfortunately, he's the reason she is missing. The next closest to Sylvanis are her Apothecaries due to her obsession with finding a plague to eradicate the Scourge. At the moment, the Undercity is currently being ruled by a council consisting mostly of Apothecaries- the most desensitized of the whole Forsaken faction. Needless to say, I have well-founded concerns that they might do something irrevocably stupid and ruin relations with Stormwind. I myself am not a diplomat, but I will do all I can to keep tensions low so that more pressing concerns can be attended to."

"Stormwind was not planning to attack the Undercity despite its current weakness of leadership. It would have been dishonorable and shameful to have done so when the Forsaken only lost their leader due to the Northrend conflict." She smiled lightly.

"Though I am sure plenty of people have advised it to you, haven't they?"

He frowned but nodded. She smiled further and then suddenly looked down at Anduin. The boy was normally not out and about. In fact, most of Stormwind's citizens were not aware that Anduin's father, the true king of Stormwind happened to be missing- only that all orders now came through Fordragon.

Ketala knew. Her Shades had discovered that piece of information very early on. Anduin was staring at her with curiosity rather than any type of fear. She chuckled and stooped and seized the boy-king under the arms- much to the alarm of all the guards in the room and Fordragon himself. The Highlord's eyes went wide, and he was halfway between drawing his sword out and grabbing the boy away. Instead of doing either, he found himself watching in amazement as Ketala hoisted the child up, laughing slightly and giving the small boy a light toss.

"Anduin Wrynn. My you are growing into a handsome boy. Would you perhaps be friends with a little boy named Timmy?"

"Timmy?" the small child asked, delighted and curious- not at all afraid of the strange undead paladin.

"Yes, Timmy. I'm afraid he was forced to give up something, and I was wondering if you would like to have it…" She set the boy down and reached into a pouch, and drew out the small bewildered white kitten. Anduin gasped and took the kitten as soon as she offered it, giggling as the small white cat nuzzled against him.

"Timmy's kitten! Oh, thank you! Thank you!"

Ketala grinned as the little boy nuzzled the kitten and then looked back at the stunned and amazed Highlord. "There was another reason I came. Since I came here, I have found undead within Stormwind's walls and brought them under my will. I have no less then a hundred or so shades, many of which are inside the Cathedral itself- stolen from Sylvanis and Arthas both. This is what originally led me to the desire to build a holy temple over Uther's tomb. Anduin is not safe simply because he is this deep in Stormwind. I have _proof_ that even something as powerful as a necromancer or death knight could get all the way to this keep before anything ever detected it, and when you are not concentrating on Anduin, something like a banshee can get even closer."

Fordragon tensed considerably, gripping the hilt of his sword tightly, his face drawn in a worried frown.

"Surly not-"

"I made a joke to my companion- trying to convince him to come to Stormwind with me- that he could embarrass the entire paladin order by proving that if he wanted to, he could kill the King of Stormwind. At the moment, if I were not also here, he would be quite capable of dong so." Fordragon's eyes flashed to Nathanos, and the undead had the distinct impression that he was about to be bombed with holy light. "I say this not to build up hatred against my companion. I say so only to protect the King of Stormwind. The human race does not need any more crushing blows." The Highlord looked back at her, apparently caught entirely off guard by this strange undead girl. After a long moment, however, he nodded.

"Is there any other startling news you have for me?" he inquired in a strained voice, a voice that betrayed his anxiety.

"Yes. However, first I have questions." He winced and sighed, nodding. "The only human Ranger Lord ever to live was Nathanos Marris, was it not?" That was a tender subject. Fordragon tensed even more and then nodded slowly. "He was killed by Ramstein the Gorger. By the way, I had the privilege of taking down that abomination by myself some years ago." Fordragon nodded, not seeing where this was going. "I was with Sylvanis at the time. Because I desired to fight Scourge, and did not see myself as anything more then a situational ally of the Undercity, she sent me to the Plaguelands to begin weakening at the Scourge power base there. Since I was so young and untried, but yet of reasonable skill, she sent me to her Champion that I might 'learn the ropes' and begin to aid in the fight against Arthas's monstrosities." Bolvar Fordragon was just about to nod again before he realized who the champion of the Banshee Queen happened to be. His eyes went wide and he just stared at her as she continued.

"Nathanos himself commissioned me to kill Ramstein for him. One night I was awakened by a mental pain I normally only feel when someone I know is dying. After assuring myself that none of the undead under me were being slaughtered, I realized the only other possible source was Nathanos."

The Ranger Lord looked directly at Ketala, surprised. He had never really found out how Ketala had discovered that he was under attack. She had possessed mental ties to him for longer than he had thought.

"Which is how I ended up on a battlefield torn between aiding a bunch of Silver Hand paladins or the Banshee Queen's champion. Since I couldn't rightly help him slaughter my fellow paladins, he wouldn't let me try to fight him out of the battle, and I surely wasn't going to kill Nathanos simply because I also had loyalties to him, I ended up crawling into some corner, curling up, rocking back and forward, and covering my eyes and ears until the whole thing was over with."

"… At that time…" the Highlord said slowly and with great emotion, "we were still at war with the Undercity."

"He was your friend in life, wasn't he? Or you at least knew him. You and Flint, whom I learned the identity of after looking in to the attack later. You would have killed him any way in order to free him from life as an undead."

The poor man couldn't answer. He was too caught up in emotion.

"He had become my friend in undeath. It was not particularly diplomatic of you to have a small army of alliance soldiers slaughtered against him, without ever once having anyone speak to him."

"He killed scouts that were sent in his direction. He was no more then a mockery of what he had been in life. A cold blooded murderer."

"Oh yes. And if you yourself had come, he probably would have killed you himself. But still, it wasn't very diplomatic of you. He used to be your friend after all. Has it not occurred to you that he was _still_ mostly Nathanos Marris?"

"Why do you torment me with this? It does not matter any longer. Nathanos Blightcaller is dead. There is nothing more that can be done. I have already lamented his fate a thousand times over. Do you know how many ranger lords exist in this world? How many human ranger lords have ever existed? Nathanos' accomplishments were unprecedented. He was a tactical genius, responsible for Alliance victories spanning a decade of conflict. His death was one of the greatest tragedies to our race. And then he was to be left as an undead? If Uther had been raised as an undead, would you not have sought to slay him and free him? It is like we our cursed. We are cursed to lose our greatest warriors; our most noble heroes. And I am certain that wherever he is now, Nathanos Marris smiles upon what we did."

"No… no… actually, if I know him well enough…" and she twisted to look at her traveling companion. "He's rather smirking as opposed to smiling. You know, that sort of evil little smirk that people give when they find something ironic or amusing?"

The King's Protector turned a shade of gray that would do an undead proud. It even had a tint of green in it, and some lovely bone-white paleness to the cheeks. Even his hair seemed to gray in coloration as he stared at Ketala's traveling companion, noting the familiar bow across his back for the first time. "Which leads me to my point! We were wondering: could we have his axes back? The alliance looted them, and he's always complaining about how much he dislikes his new ones. It really gets on my nerves." If Bolvar was paling to make an undead proud, Nathanos was being dramatic enough to do Ketala proud. He slowly lifted a gloved hand, moving it to his hood and pushing it back, one brow arched, half between a blank expression and a smirk.

"Guards! Forsaken! Forsaken in the Keep!" It was not Fordragon who called this out, but Lady Katrana Prestor, power gathering around her staff. Ketala immediately backed up protectively into Nathanos. As if able to read her thoughts (the two really were an astounding team) he wrapped an arm quickly around her, getting as close to her as possible. When the bolt of magic sailed into the two of them, Ketala's holy shield protected both of them with ease

"Having fun yet?" she whispered, covered by the roar of the magical bolt.

"You end up more like me with each passing day."

"I know. Aren't you proud?" He grinned and released her, drawing both his axes out with a snap and hovering close to her as she looked back to Fordragon, watching him order the guards to stand down and snap sternly at Lady Prestor. Ketala smirked, just waiting, pleased that she had read Fordragon's character accurately. The man was not a being to give up hope, and _seeing_ Nathanos in person had both outraged… and made hopeful… the paladin Highlord.

"_I better get my axes back,"_ the Ranger Lord said mentally.

"_Not worried about getting mobbed by Alliance and killed again?"_

"_Between the two of us, I am sure we can handle it."_

"_So I'm your partner in crime?"_ she responded, a light laugh to her mental voice.

"_No. If you were my partner in crime, we'd already rule this pitiful world."_ She did laugh this time. _"You had a mental link to me since then? Since before I was attacked by the Alliance?"_

"_I have a mental link with just about anything I care for."_

"_You cared for me even then?"_

"_Of course, Nathanos. Why else would a being like me continue to serve you out of my own free will, unless from the beginning I felt some connection to you? From the moment I first encountered you, I had this strange sense that we were… similar, in some strange fashion. Kindred spirits. Something. Maybe that subconscious feeling is what keeps me from giving up on you."_

He snorted mentally.

"_For once, consider the idea that heroes might exist. Consider that what is right might not necessarily be foolish and blind."_

The two went silent, just waiting for Fordragon to get the situation under control. Oddly enough it was Anduin who called them all to attention, and everyone went rather still to listen to their king order them about, gaping at him with wide eyes. When all was said and done, the room had been emptied, leaving Anduin, Fordragon, Nathanos, and Ketala alone. Ketala blinked and smiled to herself as Anduin turned around, all business like (with a white cat on his head) and pointed his scepter at the two undead.

"I would appreciate it," the small boy said, "if you would make an effort not cause my protector to faint. Would you please state your business here?"

"_No killing children? He's already more intelligent then some full-grown men."_

"_Which is why we don't kill them. All children are."_ The Ranger Lord chuckled mentally and then put both his axes into his belt again, and stepped around Ketala.

"I would like to have my weapons of choice returned to me," he said easily.

"And why should we return them?" the boy said, seeing as how Fordragon's tongue appeared incapable of functioning properly.

"It would be nice," Ketala piped in. "And he's _technically_ the leader of the Undercity." The small boy nodded.

"Because he was Sylvanis's Champion."

"Exactly."

"So why is he with you? Why are the Apothecaries lording over the Undercity?"

"Frankly? I'm pretty sure it's because he got lonely without me bugging him." Nathanos whirled around and glared at her and she giggled. "Nathanos is like me. We aren't politicians. We do the fighting- the action- all that good stuff."

"So you are the ones who go on missions. You're currently working in the Plaguelands because you're directly fighting against the Scourge."

"Exactly."

"Then I have a mission for you. If you agree to it, I will give you the axes immediately."

"What says we'll hold to our word?" Ketala inquired.

"Well, you're a paladin. Its part of your oath to hold to your word, isn't it?" Ketala grinned more.

"Yes, my Lord, it is. You are going to make a shrewd leader some day. What is the mission?"

"Find my father and bring him home alive." Ketala blinked, her smile fading, and she tilted her head to the side.

"How can you be sure he is alive?"

"He was captured by the Defias Brotherhood. They would use him for blackmail before killing him. I'm sure you already know all about that if you knew he was missing in the first place." Ketala nodded quietly, observing the boy. Then she shrugged and looked at Nathanos.

"Forgive me, but weren't we returning to Andorhal in order to set up an attack on Scholomance?" the Ranger Lord hissed out, his face twisting with his usual hatred and causing Fordragon to take an unintentional step backwards.

"Silly Nathanos. It's not like I, in person, could find out anything faster then my Shades could. I can't believe I didn't think of this on my own. All that we have to do is explore any leads that my Shades find."

"We are not mages, Ketala. We cannot teleport from place to place."

"No… we aren't… Fortunately, we have a friend who does that for us!" She looked back at Anduin, smiling. "Could we have a boat ride to Theramore? After the conflict in Northrend, I am reasonably well acquainted with Jaina Proudmoore."

"Of course. But… relations with Miss Proudmoore are not at their highest. Why would she help?" Anduin asked slowly.

"Oh, that's just because she's mad because people have been abusing trade rights with Theramore in order to attack Orgrimmar, and she's acquainted with the leader of the orcs. If anyone could find your father- or at least help with our transportation issue- it would be Jaina Proudmoore. And all you have to do to make her happy is to stage a few diplomatic meetings with Orgrimmar's leaders (and with Miss Proudmoore herself) about Theramore and what traffic should be let through it. Not that hard right? After all, you're managing to use ambassadors to coordinate the war effort, and you're managing a ceasefire with the undead. Right now, while everyone's acting all friendly, would be the best time to try and improve relations with Theramore and the orcs."

The small boy looked a bit hesitant at a relationship with the orcs, but apparently Ketala's words made sense to him and he nodded quietly. "I will have a boat prepared to take you to Theramore then. Please, find my father."

"'Be glad to, your highness," she said, giving a deep bow. Nathanos just stood silently, a bitter expression on his face.

"Highlord Fordragon?" the boy said, turning to his protector. The man nodded dumbly.

"Yes, my King?"

"If you are in possession of Nathanos Blightcaller's weapons, would you please return them to him?"

"Yes, my King. I will have them delivered at once," he said, retaining enough of his common sense not to leave the side of the boy.

"Great," Ketala piped up. "We'll be staying at the main inn. I forgot what it's called but we'll be staying there."

"Good," Anduin said, with a wave of his overlarge scepter. "You are dismissed." Ketala smiled and gave another little bow, before coming up and taking Blightcaller's hand. He eyed her and then snorted, detaching his hand and moving past her, towards the exit. Ketala grinned, and looked back at Fordragon.

"Sorry for the shock. And about Nathanos- he was a heck of a lot meaner when I first found him. With luck he'll be able to manage a full smile next time." She winked and then hurried off after her partner, tagging along behind him like an irrepressible little sister.

* * *

(Later)

The door opened Ander pushed his way in, smiling; he then stopping abruptly, noticing the scene before him. Generally he was not opposed to bothering Ketala when she was sleeping. Due to the fact that the undead paladin was, in fact, undead, she did not really require sleep. What made the red-haired crusader stop was the fact that (While Ketala was awake) Nathanos actually _was_ asleep.The room was set up with room for two beings to lay down with reasonable seperation between them. Nathanos had apparently fallen asleep while resting and crossed that distance while unconcious, because he was currently curled up around Ketala.

The Ranger Lordwas wrapped around her. One arm was under her waist, and one draped over her shoulder and side. Even his legs were wrapped around hers. His cheek was against her neck and under her chin, a look of serene, quiet peace on his face. Ander blinked, taken aback, staring as Ketala's eyes flashed open and glowed with worry.

"_Please don't wake him," _she said quietly. Ander blinked and then nodded, backing up and shutting the door as quietly as he could. There was a whoosh and then a heavy sham, the tip of a jagged axe sticking out inches fromthe old paladin'sforehead. The red-hairedhuman winced, more for Ketala and the loss of her moment with the ranger, then out of any fear from the idea that he had just had an axe thrown at him.

Nathanos watched the door a moment, as if daring it to open again. Then he glanced at Ketala and lowered his head against, resting his cheek once more against her throat and under her chin. Surprised by his lack of reaction, Ketala shifted slightly to look at him. _This_ upset him, and he clutched her tightly, only relaxing when she settled. The paladin regarded him quietly a long moment and then lifted an arm over his, pushing it into his hair and stroking it, brushing her fingertips over his ear and cheek.

After a long moment, he shifted the arm he had draped over her , moving it under her cheek and to her hair, his fingers gently moving through the black tresses. Ketala smiled softly and reached up to pull his glove off. He hesitated only a moment before continuing with his gentle attentions.

"You look content," she said softly to him. He did not respond, merely continued stroking her hair. She wanted to question him, to inquire what mood he was in, but instead she tilted her head to rest her cheek against the top of his head. She shifted ever so slowly to wrap her arms around him, stroking his hair, holding him tightly against her.

"You hold Lachdan like this," he said softly after a moment.

"I hold him like I would hold a child."

"So I am but another precious ghoul to you? One of many- simply one that took more labor?"

"Only if you consider me a mother."

"I do not. I never will," he said, a snarl tinting his words. She sighed happily.

"Good." He looked up at her quietly, surprised, from where he was cradled against her neck.

"Why is that good?"

"You mean far more to me than any ghoul, and I certainly do not consider you a child. For goodness sake, I have teased you about being old enough to be _my_ parent by telling you that since we both knew so little about our pasts, we could be related." She could feel him subtly, subtly relax in her arms.

"You seemed relieved that I do not think of you in a filial fashion," he continued after a moment.

"I am."

"Why?"

"Because I love you." He just regarded her quietly from where he was watching her, and she looked back at him, careful not to lock gazes with him. "Come now, Nathanos," she chided gently. "With how storybook you consider me to be, you should have seen this one coming." She smiled meekly. The Ranger lord just gazed at her, quiet, his hawk-eyes observant and calculating, his one hand no longer stroking her hair.

The moment was ruined. After a moment, he pulled away, drawing back from her, his features locked in a dark frown. He sat up, regarding her, and then turned to step off of the bed. She sat up immediately and quickly touched his shoulder. "… You don't have to return the sentiment, you know. You asked what I thought of you as, and I told you. That's all."

He was just quiet, thinking, and he watched as she took his bare hand and replaced the glove. She couldn't say more. There were no words proper for conveying her full and unambiguous meaning to the Ranger; and he simply lifted his hand and pulled the glove wholly on, quiet, calculating. She looked at him, she filled with apologies, and loves, and hopes, and innocent desire to please. Brown eyes met hers and sucked at the compassion she gave, offering in replacement their strength and independence.

Ketala snorted at his frown and scooted away from him, getting up and going to grab her scimitars. She came back to Nathanos and scowled at him, planting her hands on her hips.

"You go out and find out what you think Figure out why you feel vulnerable whenever someone realizes you care. Figure out why anyone should have to pray and beg and hope that someone they care for should not wake up!" His eyes narrowed, his face contorting in a snarl, and he stood up menacingly. "Nathanos isn't the only one who feels vulnerable," she snapped. "Nathanos isn't the only one who needs reassurance and help. We are equal! Equal burdens, equal terms! I just told a sadistic homicidal maniac I love him! Consider that I'm as selfish and vulnerable and needing as you are! Consider that I cannot always lead you through something with perfect word choice! Find out what you want and think, and get it over with, because I need your help! I do not have the mental strength to play this game right now! I will go on no matter what position you take, but I cannot suffer this game!"

She whirled, stalking (though the effect was ruined by the silence of her steps) out the door.

"I'm going for a Nathanos' patented brooding walk!" he stared after her, blinking, surprised by the sheer power and irritation of her response. Game? Selfish? He shook his head. No word games- no precise word denotations. What was she attempting to mean? And what _did_ he truly want? He closed his eyes, thinking hard.

The Ranger lord smiled, recalling as the eager-to-please look in her eyes transformed into stubborn resolve. He was teaching her something after all. She was actually being influenced by his presence. It was strangely comforting that he was not the only one was changing. His brown eyes opened as he realized just how whimsical his last thoughts were- how warm and fuzzy.

-How disgustingly soft. He'd even had his eyes closed. He snarled in disdain and stood up, picking up his weapons, boots, quarrel, and cape. He paused midway into swirling on his clock and held still a moment. He had looked directly into her eyes without flinching. The guilt and the power Ketala held over him with those eyes had not attacked him. What did that signify?

He remembered waking up warm and safe, her silky hair coiled around his cheek. She smelled earthy yet sweet, like a spring campfire after a rain or cinnamon. Like life or rebirth. Winter was a temporary death, a sleep, and Ketala smelled of water and spring and life…

And then the interruption, the harsh greeting, the sundering of the one blissful, carefree, invulnerable moment he had ever possessed of peace. A stolen moment ruined, thrust back into time and place and survival against enemies. It was understandable why Ketala had loathed the idea of Ander's interruption. She had been savoring the stolen moment as well, because she rarely received affection from him. Ketala, because of her care for him, loved that affection…

In order to get his thoughts back on track, Nathanos forced himself to well on the notion that Ketala was eight, ten, maybe twelve years old, and been killed at five. Nathanos himself was probably killed in his twenties, leaving him in his late thirties. He toyed with the disturbing irony of that to get his mind off of more whimsical thoughts, and then he walked off smiling grimly to himself.

He paused just outside of the inn, spying the trail of confused looking humans that marked Ketala's passage. Without her armor, she was most defiantly undead in appearance, and would attract plenty of notice. Idly he wondered if she would be alright, and then recalled she had brought her scimitars with her. He shook his head, scolding himself for worrying about her, and then headed off in the opposite direction of her, making sure his hood was down and over his face, trying not to think of what she had said- only to concentrate on his anger and hatred for her.

_She loves me…She loves me… She loves me…_

His burnt and undead body did not stir at the knowledge. His absent heart did not leap. But Ketala, his hellish savior… She brought back care. She brought back pain. She brought back feeling and love.

**The only thanks that Ketala Truae would ever get from the Ranger Lord, were silent ones, buried deep, deep within his twisted, sadistic soul- a joyful ecstasy for all he had regained.**

_She loves me._

Oh hell, who was he kidding? Nathanos stopped, growling with disgust for himself. Well, damn it all. He would NOT be this cliché! She might have won in every other way, might have imposed feeling and care upon him, but he would hold this last, private triumph! This was _not _going to reach a dramatic conclusion! The Ranger Lord turned on heel, following the confused and frightened stares and whispers.

Ketala Truae had found her way to the training fields at the paladin academy. The undead paladin was currently beating the wooden snot out of a practice dummy. The poor wooden construct was being hit so rapidly, and from so many angles, that it was unable to fall and just sort of tossed and jerked around in midair. Nathanos came up to her from behind with all stealth, and yet never once slowed his pace. As soon as he reached her he seized one of her arms. She whirled on him with a scowl on her face, swatting the wooden dummy away with an absent smack of a scimitar.

She was not prepared for him seizing her around the middle, yanking her against him, and pressing his mouth to hers, lukewarm skin against lukewarm skin. The undead paladin froze up, staring at him and he held her tightly, a look of triumph on his face. Slowly, her scimitars dropped from her hands, and then she was tentatively lacing her fingers into his hair, kissing him passionately in return.

He pulled back after a moment, blinking and looking quietly at her, and she just stared at him in returned, tilting her head a degree to the side. Slowly, tentatively, she moved a hand and stroked along his jaw line. He shifted once from foot to foot, quietly thinking and calculating.

For once moment, Nathanos allowed himself to give in. He allowed himself to re-indulge in that stolen moment, allowed himself to feel the soft, tender fingers caressing his cheek…

It was pure euphoria. Elation. Bliss. He moved a hand, lifting it to touch her chin tenderly, gently. She smiled lightly, tilting her temple to lean her head against his. He responded equally, letting her take his other hand and press her palm against his.

Like at Uther's tomb… Partners… Comrades…

She tackled him suddenly, and he grunted, his back hitting against another practice dummy and he slid down. Both embraced one another tightly, affectionately, and her mouth met his. He shuddered, holding her tightly against him, kissing back. There was no lust left in either. No fire burnt in his loins or chest because he was dead- he could not feel such living urges- urges that required a working body.

But his mind was swamped by hers. In that one moment of indulgence she had infiltrated every crevice in his mind. The need to expressing his affection was overwhelming- the need to emulate how close their minds were.

He loved her… Oh, how he loved her. He held on to her tightly, desperate never to be parted from her, kissing her with all his love. For a long moment, the two remained like that, and then, suddenly, she pulled her mind back. His eyes went wide, his arms tightening around her, and he made a small sound of distress.

"_Nathanos…"_

"_What are you-?"_

"_This isn't like you."_

"_I've changed! I want you!"_

"_That's what I'm afraid of…" _Her mind pulled back further.

"_No! No! I gave in! Isn't that was you wanted?"_

"_I want Nathanos. No one but Nathanos. At the moment, you are also **me**. Nathanos would never want to be stripped of his free will like this. I will not take selfish advantage of the fact that he gave in."_

"_I am Nathanos!"_

"_No." _She snarled, ripping her mind free. He screamed, clutching and grasping her tightly, his eyes rolling back and closing. Slowly, slowly, he relaxed and she stroked through his hair.

"Are you alright…?" she asked after a long moment. He swallowed slowly.

"I'm fine," he rasped, and, after a moment: "Thank you." She just sighed, resting against him. He shifted lightly, moving to stroke her hair.

"…So… Why did you come find me?"

"The inevitable conclusion of our relationship is that I admit I care for you. I refuse to let you win any further by being dramatic and cliché about it." She blinked and smiled, nestling against him.

"I hope it doesn't dampen your victory, but I'm delighted by that decision. Gets rid of all the messy emotional stress."

"Then we are in accord." She smiled, closing her eyes.

"Nathanos…?" He opened his brown eyes and looked at her. "Do you still want to die…?" he was quiet, thinking over his answer.

"Why do you ask?"

"If we are in a battle, where we are overwhelmed, which defeat will be more appealing to you? Will you continue fighting till your death, or will you turn and run to fight another day? What shall I keep in mind? Shall I have faith and run, knowing you will follow, or shall I doubt and fight my way to you in order that I might pull you away?" he pushed himself up a bit and scooted back against the practice dummy.

"You are afraid you will lose me. That I will die, and you ill be left alone. Worse, you are afraid it will be your fault- just like you feel Eldiaren and Jerod's deaths were your fault." He regarded her quietly.

"_I _would rather die tomorrow then have never met you. I'm not afraid to suffer in order to have love. But that doesn't mean I can't loathe the idea of losing you, and do all that is in my power to avoid such an outcome," she continued, coming up shoulder to shoulder against him and drawing a knee up against her. Again, he just watched her quietly for the longest moment, noting her hopeful, cherubic eyes. After that long moment, he put an arm carefully under the small of her back, and pulled her lightly against him.

"I no longer yearn for the peace of death, and you should not listen to the Spectre of Arthas," he said after a moment. "…" Ketala suddenly grinned and reached toward him, touching his hood and pushing it back a bit, smirking at him.

"Oh come on, you can do it." He scowled at her. There were light b urn from holy energy tracing part of his face, and when he scowled, the expressing was a bit disfigured by the taunt charred skin of the burn- flesh that refused to move of stretch. Ketala, as always, did not mind, just move to brush his cheek with the side of her hand. "You want to say something trite and romantic. Go on, get it over with. Less struggle for later. "His piercing eyes narrowed at her. Her laughing eyes returned the stare, but they did not mock him. Rather, they were delighted and content, simply waiting with joyful curiosity to see what his reaction would be. His brow furred with irritation, but she just grinned.

"And now you think you've found the way out of my guessing. You want to vex me because you're irritated, so you think a mood swing will get you out of this position _and_ bother me on top of it. You'll just shove me irritably and stalk off. But you'll think about it and realize that you'd just look like a kid throwing a temper tantrum, especially since _you_ followed _me_ and not vice versa. So, you'll remain here and eventually calm down." She tapped him on the nose and continued.

"And now you're getting angry because I can read you so well and you feel manipulated, but in reality the idea of manipulation is made ridiculously notorious. Everyone 'manipulates' (to the softer definition of the word) everybody else. When you feint in combat, you read a person's movements and perform an action that you know will throw them off guard. But that doesn't make you evil. It just makes you good at combat. Thusly, I am not an evil mind controller, I'm just good at figuring out how you want to be treated, what you like, and how to do things in a manner that pleases you. I might totally disregard that information, but that's all it means- I understand you."

His expression had gone blank again, and he was just watching her. She smiled a moment longer and then looked around. She discovered a dandelion and plucked it from the ground beside them. After a moment she turned and grinned, pushing it behind one of his ears. He lifted a brow and then grinned, concentrating slightly. Before her eyes, the dandelion wilted, as if touching blight. Ketala laughed and then gave him a shove, and he grinned, pushing her over. In retaliation, she seized a few mature dandelions, overtaken with white fluff that was just ready to be blown free. She lifted then and blew the fluffy seedlings into his face, and he grunted and pounced on her. She grinned, grabbing him by the shoulders and manage to overbalance his pounce, sending him over her head. Immediately she was up and jumping at him, sending fluff from many dandelions whirling up into the air.

Ketala finally got her wish. She was able to hear Nathanos Marris laughing in joy before his death, and the two rolled and struggled and pounced and threw flowers at each other.

Such is how Ander and Highlord Fordragon found them, covered in dandelions and laughing, both laying down bets on who could coerce a fish from the nearby pond to jump higher. Both had noticed the paladins long before they were reached, and Ketala turned to wave at them as they finally drew near.

"Hey!" she called gleefully, but she was cut off as Nathanos convinced a fish to do a double back flip in midair. "What-? Curse you! No extra points for style!"

"Jus because you aren't a ranger!"

"What? I could make them flip!" and she indeed did, splashing Nathanos in the process. He simultaneously shoved her into the pond, and burst out laughing- as did she- when she surfaced and began sloshing back to shore. The clearing of a throat caused both of them to look at Ander in unison, both so similar at the moment, both with innocent laughing eyes.

"Yeeesssss?" Ketala asked, climbing up and wringing her hair out.

"Several townspeople reported an undead in town."

"Oh, sorry. I was mad at him," she said, pointing at Nathanos. Ander nodded, apologetic of his own role in that. "What did you come to tell us earlier?"

"The Lady Proudmoore is currently in Stormwind. She arrived last night. Gydrion is also asking after you, and Highlord Fordragon, as you can guess, desires to have a word with you."

"Wow. I'm popular," she said, and she grinned at Nathanos. "How come you don't have these kinds of friends? I will visit Lady Proudmoore first. You will remain here?"

"Oh of course. As we both know, the Highlord would not have left the side of his charge unless this was an entirely personal matter." Fordragon looked at him, blinking, as Ketala grinned, stood, and patted Nathanos on the shoulder.

"I will see you in a bit, then. Don't kill anyone while I'm gone."

"Can I kill someone when you return?"

"We'll negotiate that when I do return." She winked at him and grasped his hand firmly, hauling him to his feet. Being Nathanos, the Ranger Lord immediately computed the easiest and quickest way to surprising and upsetting Fordragon. He tugged on her hand to pull her closer, and kissed her tenderly, gently… He mentally controlled himself, making sure not to relax too much. He did not want to lose control again and make a fool of himself in front of these two paladins. The Ranger pulled back, smirking at her, and she nodded and turned, moving up to Ander.

"Lead the way, my old friend. I have things to talk to you about…"

* * *

The Spectre of Arthas was always there, accompanied by the horrid feelings of despair and loss. Every action was veiled by images of the fallen. Every word was veiled by memories of the slain... He had seen it in her face when he'd found her at the paladin training grounds. She had been listening to the spirit and its taunting... 

Why, when his mind was almost possessed by hers, had he not been able to sense the Spectre? So why had Nathanos been able to look her in the eyes? Was something wrong with Ketala? Or was she getting better? Was... ...?

She had such beautiful eyes...

Oh damn it, he really was smitten.

* * *

BWAHAHAHAHA! I finally did it! I finally concluded the romance! I did it! 

YARG! REVIEW OR MY FEELINGS WILL GET BOO-BOOS!

http/ groups (dot) msn/ clankyn / fanfiction.msnw?albumlist2

This is where I'm posting the fanfiction pictures (as well as many others). Most of my art is very old there because I AM LAZY! BWAHAHAHAHAH! However, I've updated a few sections of this huge peice of artwork containing Ketala and Nathanos, and you can see them there. If the link doesn't work, just go to groups dot msn dot com slash clankyn.

WUV U ALL!


	39. Parents Are Important

I LIVEEEEE! Sorry guys. Mom took the family on a two week vacation running around the nation visiting relatives. Form your own conclusions. Anyway, I've written the next chapter. I've decided that I'm going to run this story until the WOW Expansion comes out. Once its out, I'll put out the sequel to my story. It will be called "Trua." I figured I'd just stick with the name of the angelic gift my main OCs have. MahiMahi, Trua, and if I ever get to another book, Curiato. I'm hoping for more fighting and less angst but who knows. I write each chapter while only knowing a tiny bit about what I'm going to write in the future.

Anyhoo, I've got Art on my website and a poll at the end, so maybe those will give you incentive to vote, hahaha.

* * *

_**Parents are Important**_

* * *

Moonglade

Illidan doubted he had ever been so patient in his entire life. The girl was screaming, raging. Each time she woke up, she was like this. Each time, she raged until her very last drop of adrenalin, and then dropped into unconsciousness immediately. There were no times of sanity in her. Worse, there were no breaks in her thrashing and sleeping. She had not eaten in several days, and yet she exhibited no signs of exhaustion- only anorexia. She had slightly atrophied, for he had not had any time between her thrashings during which he could feed her. He had a feeling that she would continue her adrenalin powered periods of thrashing and sleep all the way up until she simply dropped dead of exhaustion

Ember often escaped from his hold. Each time this happened, he would have to spend around half an hour just catching her again. It was beginning to gnaw on his nerves.

She was free now. He snarled, jumping at her and seizing her by the hair, yanking and pulling her down to the ground. She writhed and clawed, but he already had a firm enough grip. Illidan Stormrage dragged her to him by her hair and quickly shoved a hand down on her back, leaning his weight heavily upon it and squeezing rather tightly. She grunted and screamed, biting and kicking, but was otherwise immobilized.

The half-demon grunted, releasing her hair and seizing her arms with his free hand. He moved his other hand from her back to her legs, and promptly scooped her up, stuffing both her ankles and wrists into one hand. Ember was quite the contortionist, but lack of food was apparently working against her harder then he had guessed. This time she did not manage to pull herself up and bite him.

Illidan sighed, sitting and scooping her up into his lap, turning his head and looking blindly at the venison he had been cooking. She did not like being toted around, and he had put her in a position where gravity did not impede her ability to reach his hands with her mouth. After a moment of gnawing and biting, Illidan turned her up side down, setting her shoulder blades in his lap. She would have to perform an act of supreme contortionism and gymnastics to life her head up and bite at his fingers.

Well, the little girl was defiantly deserving of the name "Ember Storm_rage_." Illidan leaned over and seized some of the venison in his free hand- a piece almost too big to chew- and promptly stuffed it into her snarling mouth. She made a noise between a quizzical grunt and a scream as he then clamped his hand tightly over her lips to hold the food in, and she immediately set to chewing through the tough meat in order that she might bite him again. However, within moments she had forgotten her initial directive. All her attention suddenly became focused on her food in her mouth, and she tore through the meat with a relish.

Satisfied that he had at least found a way to keep the girl from starving to death, the demonhunter grabbed some more meat and held it in front of her face. When she was finished with the first bit, she immediately snapped down on the food he offered, making soft sounds of content and slowly settling down. That took are of one problem. Now to address the issue of stopping her ragings.

Slowly, Illidan moved one clawed hand in a wide arc around her head, not wanting to alarm or vex her, and trying to keep the limb out of her sight. When he was sure she wasn't about to bite at his fingers, he cupped his clawed hand around the back of her head, gently supporting him.

She ignored him.

Again moving slowly, he released her arms and legs, and she immediately lifted her hands to her mouth to assist in food consumption. The demonhunter smirked and carefully began to turn her upright. However, Ember snarled, glaring at him past a mouth of bloody meat, and he paused to consider the situation. After a moment, he took some meat and held it high out of her reach. She made several futile grasps for it, and growled and flailed until he had pushed her into an upright position and had the food in her mouth.

He was silent, gently holding her with one clawed hand and feeding her with the other, surprised at how docile she was being. Idly he wondered how she was going to react when he stopped feeding her to keep her from overreacting. Surprisingly, her binge slowed of its own accord, and she began to munch on her food in a civilized fashion, peering at him curiously from behind her chunks of venison.

While she was occupied with one pieces, he moved his venison-fetching hand slowly towards her. She didn't flinch or growl, instead allowing him to gently stroke her matted hair. Ember watched him a moment, and then lifted a hand, her tiny fingers gently touching…

The new, growing stubs of his horns. He smirked.

"Yes, those. They've been coming back ever since I've had to drain you of mana." She jumped, looking from his horns to his face, and her little face contorted in confusion.

"Wh… Where's mommy?" Involuntarily, Illidan tensed. It was still so hard to accept that this was Tyrande's _Child…_ Furion's _child_… "Mommmmy?" she questioned, looking around, her voice elevating in pitch and volume.

"Mommy is not here," the demonhunter replied rather stiffly, unsure of how to talk to this child.

"Wh-where is she?" the little girl inquired, looking back at him and on the verge of tears.

"…She's home. But you are going to stay with me for a little while, okay?"

"Bu-Mommy-" her little face scrunched up, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. "Mommy." Her voice escalated. "Mommmmmyyyy! Mommmmmmyyyyyyyyyyyy!"

Oh great. He had freed her from one fit just to throw her into another. The little girl flung herself at him, crying and clawing and biting. However, this time Ember's adrenaline did not keep her going. He managed to pin her down, holding her there until she stopped writing and just cried quietly. After this he slowly and carefully released the little girl, watching as she culed up, and as tears splashed down over her cheeks. He paused, at a loss as to how to deal with this situation. After a moment, Illidan carefully picked up the young child in his clawed hands and held her against him, rubbing her back. He was in luck. Ember immediately clung to him, smoothing her tears against him. Her tiny fingers dug slightly into his skin, and he had the notion that even in her sorrow, she was trying to cause him pain. Still, without an adrenaline rush she quickly tired, and sleep at last claimed her.

Illidan had become the adopted parent of a wolf cub. This fact was made apparent when Ember woke quietly in the morn. She immediately made a point of scrambling up his shoulder- something she did with amazing dexterity- latching into his hair between his shoulder blades, and promptly grabbing one of his ears between her teeth, biting down with a crunch.

Thus the wrestling match was initiated. It was impossible for him to get at her with his hands because she had planted herself squarely between his shoulder blades and wings. This meant he had to present her with a danger (such as being rolled over or smashed into a tree) in order to get her off. Unfortunately, Ember had apparently inherited some monkey from her father's side. It took him ages to finally catch her and pin her beneath his hands. Initially, he was worried that her fits of rage would begin all over again. When he realized that her growls were playful and laced with giggles, he stared at her, surprised by her change in attitude. After a moment, he released her. Immediately she danced away, crouching on all fours and growling mischievously.

Well, one of his ears might get gnawed off before the end of the day, but at least it was a step in the right direction.

He cocked his head to the side, regarding the girl for a moment, and then got up on all fours, spreading his wings. She grinned, wriggling like an excited puppy, and then charged him. He moved quickly, catching her as she pounced at him, and she giggled delightedly, slipping out from between his hands, scrambling underneath one of his wings.

Chomp.

He grimaced, reminding himself forcefully that it was necessary to encourage any remotely pleasant behavior in the young girl…

Oh hell, he was getting her teeth _out of his ear!_ He scrambled around, fighting gently with the tiny girl.

* * *

(Some Months Later)

It had taken so long to get her accustomed to him...

"Ember?" she growled, struggling in his grip. "Ember, please listen to me." She flicked her head up, tossing a mane of violet blue hair back from her face, and looked up at him with big gold eyes.

_Devious little thing. She's not listening- sheis trying to figure out her best chance of escaping._

"Ember!" Her eyes focused fully on his face and he snorted. "I must go for a short while, and you will have to remain here alone. Ember, you must _promise_ me you will _stay HERE!_" She grinned wickedly and then blinked, cocking her head to the side.

"Go?" Her eyes suddenly went big and round, and he had the distinct impression that had he been able to see properly, he'd have been forced to pick her up and take her with him. That would not have been a smart move. Not only did Ember get hostile any time she was near other intelligent life, but Felwood was filled with corruptive energies. The girl was bad enough as it was- no need adding Fel to her list of problems.

"Just for a bit- a few hours-"

Where formally Ember had been calculating ways to escape, she now clung to him with such fury that it was conceivable that someone would have to lose a limb in order to detach her.

"No! No, no, no! Don't go!" she breathed, deeply alarmed, her small, powerful fingers digging into his skin.

"Ember!" Her attention snapped back to his face, her tiny body quivering. "Ember, I will not be gone long-"

"NOT LEAVE ME!" she squealed, breaking free of his hold and burrowing into his lap. He sighed, leaning an elbow on one of his knees and his chin on his palm, tapping his talons against his cheek as he thought over this dilemma. After a long moment he sighed and grasped her by the scruff of the neck, picking her up and holding her to eye level.

"There will be people there, and demons. You must be very, very good and do _exactly_ what I tell you to. Will you do that Ember?"

"Not leave me!"

"WILL YOU DO THAT?" She quailed and bobbed her head enthusiastically.

"I will! I will be good, I _promise_!" The demonhunter sighed softly, already regretting his course of action. Ember's promises were about as evanescent as a wisp of smoke, but he hadn't any better method of ensuring her cooperation, and it probably wasn't the best of ideas to leave her utterly alone in the wilderness of Moonglade. He sighed and scooped her up in his arms, putting her arms around his neck.

"Alright little one. Hold on." She nodded, her arms tightening with a strength that belied her youth. He sighed, spreading out his wings to their full length and wishing they could be longer and less clumsy at the same time. Oh well. He looked down at the little girl in his arms, ensuring that she was secure.

She kissed his cheek and promptly snuggled against him.

He lifted a violet brow, regarding her for a moment through his bandana. Then he drew his wings against him and bolted. It took him only a few seconds to reach full out sprint, and he spread out his wings, giving a powerful beat.

The freedom of flight was helpful and enjoyable. Ember was thrilled the entire way, her eyes roving the horizon for sign of the newest interest.

* * *

(A Day Later)

The sight of Illidan cradling a child was most certainly unusual. It was made even more unusual by the fact that the little one looked almost identical to him. Things that are unusual generally attract much whispering and attention.

Attention upset Ember. The pair was only on the ground for half a minute before every hair on the back of the girl's neck was standing on end and throaty, sinister growls were issuing from her lips. The demonhunter shifted his arms lightly as he walked towards the command tents. He had to make sure he did not lose control of her for an instant. Not only would chasing a wild toddler cause him to lose respect in the eyes of his dangerous followers, but he had to ensure that Ember wouldn't get herself killed. Fortunately, Ember seemed inclined to remain with Illidan. She had one arm draped over his hand, all of her fingers latched tightly on to a single one of his digits. Her other hand would have been digging gouges into his skin, were it not for the armor that his demonhunter tattoos provided.

Kael'Thas Sunstrider had only just returned from Theramore two days before Illidan's arrival, but he had managed to quell the populace and reestablish some order. Kael was nowhere near the sorcerer that Illidan Stormrage was, but he remained a charismatic and capable leader to the last. Even in Felwood, surrounded by demonic energies, and with eyes tainted green by demonic flame, Kael'Thas Sunstrider was a king. He might have lorded over a broken and fallen people, but he was still a king. If fate was kind, he would retain some of the honor and loyalty of his forbearers and would not be consumed entirely by his lust for power. The lord of the blood elves was sitting in his tent pouring over various books when Illidan arrived, but Kael sensed the presence of his half-demon master immediately.

Kael lifted his head, golden hair slipping back behind his ears, blazing green eyes contemplating the doorway for a moment. One red-gauntleted hand remained poised on the tome he was reading, his index finger lying beneath the word "meditation". Immediately he could feel his power mounting, the _mana_ at his disposal thickening. With a shudder he pushed out the power, and by an extreme act of will he resisted the demonic energies.

After indulging so long, it was very hard to suddenly deny himself access to the latent demonic energies around him. Still, the meditation that the surviving High Elves practiced might provide a way to augment his people's power or, if not, could at least provide a method for keeping them sane. Kael could not now go back on his decision to accept demonic energies, but now he was responsible for the consequences of his actions. He had no desire to watch himself turn into a lesser copy of Arthas, and he certainly did not wish his people to resemble the creatures responsible for ravaging his homeland. Because of the heavy risks he had taken, he needed to find and provide a means by which they might practice demonic magic 'safely'. Like the protective towers in Dalaran, these meditation techniques might help to safeguard the progress of a race dabbling in arts beyond their initial comprehension.

However, to test the meditation techniques, he had to first eliminate all other factors. For a short while, he would have to rely entirely on them rather then on the demonic magics around him. The Blood Elf leader took a moment to control himself and to suppress his overwhelming lust for magic. Then he stood and exited the tent, moving to confront his leader.

He stopped short in surprise upon seeing the tiny Nightelf latched tightly to Illidan Stormrage's shoulder.

"M-my lord?"

Illidan paused, eyeing Kael silently. The Demonhunter was frowning; But then, Illidan perpetually frowned.

"When did you return from Theramore?"

"Two days past my lord."

"Good. Get a ship headed there- _now_." Kael blinked, taken aback.

"Yes, My Lord. The ship will be ready in just a few days-"

"_NOW._"

"-a day," the Blood Elf amended. Illidan grimaced but nodded, and started turning away. "The… girl… my lord?"

"What about her?" the half demon snapped, turning on Kael.

His horns were growing back. The sharp points already jutted half a foot from his head. What demonic magics had Illidan been dealing with to have so quickly regenerated the structures?

"Is- there-… anything you need for her, my lord?" the demonhunter paused a moment to muse.

"Meat of some kind- rabbit, venison, anything not tainted with Fel." Kael blinked. He had not planned on bringing anything Fel-tainted for a Night Elf. The fact that Illidan had bothered mentioning it implied that it was extremely important to keep Fel away from the little one. Illidan merely snorted at the Blood Elf's expression. "If the Lady Proudmoore had not suddenly made you so altruistic, you would still currently be siphoning demonic magic, and you would realize that this 'girl' is a well of it. She does not need anything else demonically corrupted to set her off." The Bloodelf leader winced. On an afterthought, Illidan's eyes narrowed, his brows moving together. "If any of your people so much as taste her aura, I will behead them," he promised, turning on heel and stalking off, his hooves leaving deep flaming imprints in the ground.

Kael breathed out slowly. Tentatively he reached out with his senses. The girl was not currently using any magic, but she was so close, perhaps he could sense whatever it was Illidan was-" Kael gasped, stumbling backwards, clutching in horror at his head. There was the horrible, wonderful sensation that he was drowning in the most luxuriously warm water. It was like starving and being given food, or dying and suddenly being relieved of pain. If Kael had lusted for anything more than magic, he could have likened his current state to something more lewd. Fortunately, the struggling leader was not a promiscuous being, and thus had fewer sins to bind him.

After a moment of mindless, horrible, wonderful oblivion, his eyes gained focus and he breathed in sharply, painfully. It was sheer mental torture to pull his senses back. If closing off his mind to siphoning latent demon energies had taken an extreme act of will, then pulling his magic senses back was an act fueled by some god. Like a half-drowned man washed up to shore he stumbled and clutched weakly to his surroundings, breathing hard, eyes wide.

For the life of him, he could not figure out why he pulled back. He had touched the single most powerful and overwhelming bastion of demonic power he had ever been subjected to. Pure and overwhelming. He keenly believed he now knew what it would have been like to fall into the Sunwell. The power was all there, all ripe for the taking. Illidan's threat had entirely vanished. If Kael had been able to tap into such power, he had little doubt he would have been able to overcome his master. Yet, for whatever reason, Kael'Thas pulled back. He felt a deep longing, a heavy, innate desire to indulge, to find that demonic node again and to tap into it. It was a powerful, constantly beating desire, possessing his thoughts and hazing his vision.

Through it all, he felt in the back of his mind the distinct impression that he had just saved whatever measly fragment he still possessed of his own soul. A drowning man reached shore and discovered that he still lived. So did Kael'Thas Sunstrider. And that knowledge sustained him until mindless desire faded into dull ache, and at last the exhausted Blood Elf was allowed to sleep.

Illidan was mildly impressed. He'd had to throw Vashj's mind away from Ember's, and he was surprised by how Kael managed to pull himself back. The demonhunter shifted Ember to his other arm, stroking her hair firmly and soothing her. Perhaps Jaina Proudmoore was indeed the perfect candidate for reversing demonic corruption.

Ember Stormrage growled, clinging to his supporting hand and calming slowly under the stroking one, like a Nightsaber kitten. She also refused at any time to be on her back, meaning she was somewhat crouched, perfectly balanced, on his forearm.

"Ember?" One of her ears twitched. He brushed his knuckles gently over her chin, trying to rouse any other response from her. She refused to play the game, growling from deep within her throat. The scent of other sapient beings appeared to upset her. He cocked his head to the side and then grinned and pinched her. She yelped and whirled on him, springing at him immediately. He chuckled, grabbing her and flinging her to the ground. She skidded, caught herself, and sprinted back at him, clawing and scratching. He did not mind. She would realize soon enough that he was merely playing, and she would appreciate the game. Roughhousing was Ember's favorite pastime.

None of Illidan's minions ever dared to approach him save for Akama, Vashj, and Kael'Thas. Akama was currently in Outland, and Vashj and Kael were unconscious. No one walked in to Illidan's private tent to see him fast asleep, a little child nestled safe within his arms.

* * *

(The Next Morning)

For a few moments after Illidan woke, he repressed his eyesight, instead listening to his other senses. He could hear breathing beside him, and feel the rise and fall of a tiny little chest- hear and feel the beating of a tiny little heart.

Illidan Stormrage was generally not one to take pity. He had been condemned by his people during the First Invasion because of his blatant disregard for life, and for his utter lack of compassion. Respect for the delicacies of life was generally attributed to his brother Furion. Illidan had learned very few of the druidic arts before growing impatient with them and returning to Chaotic magic. His apology to Zul'vii (In Moonglade, after Furion awoke and the half-troll had been attacked by an elf, which, shortly after, Illidan blew to smithereens) had been one of the few times that he had ever admitted that killing mindlessly was wrong.

Ember yawned softly, snuggling further into his chest Her face was shaped so much like his. Even her amber eyes were reminiscent of his own. Illidan might not have been very good at feeling sorry for others, but he was rather good at feeling sorry for himself. This little one was so similar that he could indeed empathy for the child- just as he would feel sympathy for himself.

He breathed in slowly, and stopped repressing his demonic eyesight so that he could see. A twisted, slick green aura greeted him, corrupted and evil. Sleepy eyes opened and gazed up at him, each blazing with green fire. Tyrande had asked him to find a way to save this girl, but he highly doubted such a thing was possible. Every last fiber of this child was tainted- down to each little finger and strand of hair. Occasionally he wondered if her pleasant behavior was not merely an act to weaken his defenses. Half of him knew that he should tell Tyrande that the girl was beyond hope. Half of him refused to fail the High Priestess of Elune.

The girl giggled and lifted a hand, gently touching his face.

Perhaps this was why mothers could not kill their children. Any outsider would recognize this child as long past the point of redemption. The well of demonic power within her was so pure and overwhelming that it eliminated all rational hopes that the girl had anything left in her besides demonic essence. Surely, Tyrande must have sensed that. Yet she had not condemned this child. Rather then giving up and accepting the fact that the only way to make the world safer would be to slay this abomination, a mother would believe unfailingly till the end that there was some hope- no matter how remote.

Perhaps this was why Tyrande had not condemned Ember; this instinct that caused Illidan to bundle the child so tightly against him, to keep one wing spread over her. Perhaps this was why, these tiny fingers latched so very trustingly around one of his claws; the mane of hair beneath his chin and the soft cheek pressed against his chest. It evoked a very real sense of responsibility and purpose. This little one was so very fierce and filled with rage, and yet as she slept she was fragile and tender and helpless.

Perhaps mortals instinctively feel a need to protect that which needs aid most of all. For whatever reason, selfish or selfless, Illidan smiled as the little one touched his cheek. She grinned, eyes narrowing as a growl built up in her throat. Immediately he picked her up and sat upright, giving her a little toss upwards. She squealed and yelped as he caught her again, and then immediately pounced on top of his head, latching on to one of his horns and once more chomping into one of his pointed ears.

* * *

Outside of Hearthglenn  
(Some Time Ago)

He knew it was foolish to come closer. The Scarlet Crusaders would attack him on sight. Not only was he not a crusader, but he no longer even bore the tabard of the Silver Hand. Still, he could not help himself. The anticipation was far too great. The idea of shortening it, even by mere seconds, was far too overwhelming for him not to give in to. He needed to see if it would work… It _had_ to work! Oh Blessed Light, _he_ should be the one in there right now!

Tirion's hands clenched reflexively around his weapon of choice, and he held the battle hammer at ready. He should not be this close. He would only alert the crusaders to his presence. He might even ruin his son's chances for escape! The Paladin shrunk back and breathed in deeply. By god his choices were muddled. He had been waiting and planning for this for so long… He mustn't ruin his son's chances. Yet how could he just remain here, outside the border of Hearthglenn, and do _nothing_? Tirion should have been the one in there, leaving his son from the clutches of the Scarlet Crusaders. Yet he knew the Grand Inquisitor would be waiting for him. Even the Old Hag's illusions could not have hidden Tirion's presence from Grand Inquisitor Isillien- not with the Crusader just waiting for him to approach Hearthglenn. Isillien was one of the few that knew Tirion was alive, information that the mad Inquisitor had no doubt gleaned from the High Crusader himself.

Tirion closed his eyes and breathed in deeply to steady himself. He had been alone, fighting evil, for far too long. His life had been consumed in his quest for justice. At this time, his wife was too far beyond his reach. She had died long ago. But Taelan… His son…

Tirion had not seen his son since Taelan was a boy. And Taelan _lived_. The idea of being reunited with the boy, of fighting against evil and injustice with him, of once again truly living and of having a family, was an overwhelming idea. He opened his eyes and dared to creep closer, to slowly, slowly make his way towards Hearthglenn. True, he might alert the Crusaders around him, but they were negligible. The truth was that the sooner he reached Taelan, the safer the boy would be. His son might have been the Highlord, but Isillien held the position of highest power among the crusaders.

And then a warcry reached his ears. A call to the light for protection and strength- not for vengeance or blood.

Taelan. Tirion bolted from his hiding place, hammer at ready, charging as fast as he could towards the sound of the warcry. He ignored the Crusaders around them- could care less if they saw him.

He arrived just in time to see his son die. Just in time to watch Isillien strike him down, his unholy power ripping the boy apart.

So much suffering. So much time and effort. So many tasks, so much planning… So much hope. He had been that close… Seconds away. _That close_ to saving the boy. That close to being reunited with his child.

He could not have mistaken that face that so blended his own features with that of his wife. He could not have mistaken the bundle of mementos clutched in one of his hands, or the look of recognition in the young man's eyes as he saw Tirion appear. As if in a cut scene, Tirion had watched Isillien's dark magics rip the life from the boy, and had watched Taelan's blood spill over the ground.

Dead.

* * *

Western Plaguelands, on the road beside Caer Darrow and Scholomance  
(The Present)

Tirion Fordring woke up with a shudder and quickly closed his eyes, calming himself. It was a sort of calming technique that he always practiced upon awakening. He did not mind the nightmares- did not dread them like Jaina Proudmoore had once done for her dreams of her father. Instead they kept him human, reminded him constantly of his loss and his cause. The tears that slipped down his cheeks were a necessary part of him. They always reminded him that grief is preferable to anger, even though strength is preferable to weakness. He breathed out slowly, letting the memory of Taelan's death replay for just a moment, before he thrust the memory away again and opened his eyes.

The rain pattered against the outside of his tent and the air was humid but cold. Tirion grunted and sat up. Strange. Two decades ago, he had always fancied himself aging. Now the strength and holy power within him far surpassed what he had possessed in his youth. He had no doubt that, like all men, he would die. Invulnerability is an illusion for the young. Still, he possessed all the vigor of his youth and more. Even though his hair was mostly silver and white, he could wield his warhammer with speed and strength that surpassed men a third his age.

A third his age? He supposed he was fifty or so now. Maybe sixty- he couldn't be sure. Still, The Light had infused Uther, and many other great paladins at that, with strength long beyond their youth. If the Light continued to favor him, he would probably be able to serve it properly- with hammer and honor both- up until his death.

Tirion sighed and pulled on his heavy plate armor over his simple's trappings. For a long time, Tirion had lived as a hermit in the Eastern and Western Plaguelands. He had lived through Arthas's butchering of Stratholme, through the loss of Quel'Thalas, through the creation of the Plaguelands….

He had lived through much, and had not done as much as he should have to help. Now he would make it up to the people of the world… and to the holy Light itself. Taelan's death had made him see that he could not continue to live in self pity. The Light had spared him for a reason- he had to live up to its expectations. If he did not do so, his survival and Taelan's death meant nothing.

_No Father should have to live to bury his son…_

He shook his head, refusing to fall into self pity. Self pity had claimed too many years of his life already. The rain had not slackened, but his armor was blessed to resist corrosion, and rain was a blessed and rare occurrence in the Plaguelands. Tirion moved into a crouch and pushed aside his temp flap, stepping out into the cool rain.

Rain. Real rain. Not tainted or fouled, not polluted by necromancer magics. It had been years since he had felt or seen real rain, and he held out his arms for a moment to allow the cleansing waters to run over him. He was in the Western Plaguelands now, for it was still his nature to wander and not to command. And if it was raining, that certainly meant there was hope. More then that- it meant that the Western Plaguelands was healing in places. Tirion was no druid, but he understood signs when he saw them. Rain meant nature was healing. Healing nature meant corruption was fading.

If only it could last. His scouts were informing him that Kel'Thuzad had finally resurfaced. The Scourge was moving once again…There was work to be done before the land could heal. Fortunatly, it looked like the Western Plaguelands might be the first to fall from Kel'Thuzad's grip. This would be a brilliant tactical victory against the Scourge- a crack in the Lich King's seemingly impenetrable exterior.

Impenetrable. Cunning was a better word. There were rumors that a few years ago, an invasion fleet had been launched against Northrend in an attempt to obliterate the Lich King once and for all. The invasion had fallen into a cunningly devised trap, and had shortly broken up afterwards, with very little harm done to either the invaders or to Northrend's Scourge. Fools. Tirion could have shown them the putrid fumes surrounding the Plaguelands, the mindless Cult of the Damned who each and every day made the infection worse. He could show them burnt Stratholme or monstrous Scholomance. The Lich King's power had never weakened for a moment, even with the massive tactical defeat he was rumored to have suffered before the invasion attempt- the tactical defeat that was supposedly responsible for the small number of undead in the Western Plaguelands and the healing land.

However, the invasion of Northrend had incurred one benefit that Tirion had never hoped for or foreseen. It had awakened the average Scarlet Crusaders to the realization that humanity had by no means gone extinct. There was hope in the form of other race and other factions. There were allies in faces of the Argent Dawn. As Tirion Fordring traversed through the Western Plaguelands, the Argent Dawn and Scarlet Crusade were currently planning a meeting at Light Hope's Chapel, all in the hope that they might together find some way of meeting the threat of Naxxramas and Kel'Thuzad.

Tirion sighed, waving to the Knights on watch so that they might not be alarmed by his movements, and went to saddle Mithrandor. He was well aware that it was imprudent for a leader to go gallivanting off into the night in a hostile countryside, but Tirion had made a habit of the years of doing imprudent things. He figured it was only in character to continue doing them. After all, there were always those to carry on in the name of right if he were to perish. The Argent Dawn had existed before Tirion had ever found it, and it would continue to exist even if he were to fall off of Azeroth this very second. He was merely the strongest advocate of right and, thusly, he was doing what advocates do best- advocating.

To advocate good, one must first understand good and evil; Tirion rode off into the night to ponder the state of the Western Plaguelands, and to ride into the hills, that he might get a good look out at corrupted Caer Darrow.

For a moment, Tirion squinted, thinking that his old eyes were betraying him. However, he immediately admonished himself for his lack of faith in the Light, and gradually accepted what he saw. There were lights in Andorhal. The fog and distance obscured them, but Tirion trusted his gut instinct that the light he saw was more than just the reflection of stars on the lake- after all, it was raining, and he was in the Plaguelands. The stars were certainly not out.

* * *

(The Next Day)

Tirion was out in the Western Plaguelands for one primary purpose. He had been removed from the world, living as a hermit, for far too long. Tirion wanted to know what he was up against and who his allies were. He had been able to learn much from the Argent Dawn, and had stayed at Light's Hope Chapel for quite some time, glad to have found those of similar religious mind to himself. Rumors and stories in an isolated land, however, were only rumors and stories. Fordring was well aware that he was far behind on the current affairs of his world, and he made it a priority of his to become reacquainted with them. In several months, he was expected in Tristfal to escort officials from the Scarlet Monastary to Hearthglenn. Other then that, his time was his own. The Paladin had chosen to come to Andorhal first, the midpoint between Hillsbrad and Tristfal.

Tirion could sense the nervousness in his men as they approached the great gates to Andorhal. After all, they knew not what to expect. Still, they had traversed through wild landscapes that had slain countless an unwary traveler, and done so safely, all because of Tirion's good judgment. They would most certainly not abandon him now.

Even so, it took every Knight assembled a great effort to hold still as a great, horrible voice bellowed out over Andorhal's wall, "Who Comes to the City of the Dead?"

Tirion breathed in slowly, but he never once reached for his great hammer. "My name is Tirion Fordring. I am a Paladin of the Brotherhood of Light and the Argent Dawn!"

A Pause.

And then the voice… _changed_. It became sophisticated and controlled, even though it was most defiantly the guttural voice of an abomination.

"We ask of you, are you, Fordring, a relative of Taelan Fordring, Highlord of Hearthsglenn?"

Tirion's heart jumped painfully and his face went blank despite his confusion. "You were acquainted with my son?" he asked simply.

"We have met the Highlord. We welcome you to Andorhal, Tirion Fordring," the voice bellowed in a softer tone, and with that there was a huge snapping sound, and the great gates were pushed open by a team of Abominations.

One of the Knights beside him backed his horse up a few steps. These men had never come into contact with Sylvanis's Scourge. They had spent most of their careers in the Eastern Plaguelands. Several were originally Scarlet Crusaders. Several were originally from Light's Hope Chapel. Two were Hermits like Tirion himself. None of them took the sight of the Abominations very well, and several had to suppress the urge to vomit. These men had survived the Plaguelands with their sanity intact because they had desensitized themselves to such monstrosities as the Abominations. No sane man could fight a hodgepodge of human body parts without some type of shield against the gross reality of what he combated. Abominations were the enemy. They were mindless, thoughtless. Now, however, that shield was outright removed. There is a difference between fighting a monstrosity in battle and being forced to accept it as an ally.

Fordring never faltered. He rode straight on into the city, and his men followed as best they could.

Andorhal was alive with the dead. Isn't that a paradox? Ghosts rushed too and fro, delivering messages and directing less intelligent undead around. Banshees were flitting about, possessing creatures as they saw fit in order to perform some delicate task. A blacksmith was being built at the entrance of the city and ghouls were swarming it. They passed lumber and stone to one another, thatched the roof, tossed around hammers and nails until the tools came into the possession of a ghoul that could use them, all in order to construct the building. A more intelligent ghoul was yelling orders and enchanting the materials to make them resistant to corrosion, flame, and various other nuisances. He appeared to be a mage, and half of his face was missing due to the fireball that had ended his life.

The poor ghost smith was running around frantically. He couldn't quite understand why his blacksmith had been missing in the first place, but now he was desperate to make sure it was put back together properly. If one thing was out of place, it would upset him for the rest of his unlife. As the Paladins of the Brotherhood of Light entered Andorhal, he was currently begging the ghouls to be careful putting in his room. He needed his bed to be _just_ right, with one leg shorter than all the others.

"Race does not dictate honor," Tirion said, looking back at his knights. "Calm. We will know the truth about this Lady of Andorhal soon enough."

Hoofbeats caused the party to look again to the main road, where they found a skeletal horse bearing a rider quickly to them. The rider reigned in his horse as he neared the party and turned it about so that he might look from the side of his saddle at them.

"Greetings, master Fordring. My Lady bid me come and lead you to her. She would have come herself, but she is in the middle of a meeting with architects."

The boy that had become this ghoul could not have been more than sixteen when death claimed him, and his sprightly, youthful manner remained intact. He wore the armor of an unproven paladin with the symbol of the Silver Hand engraved over the left breast. The insignia assured Tirion that he had not made a mistake of coming to this Light abandoned place, and he nodded. "Lead the way," was all he said, before riding after the undead boy.

As they walked, none of the undead approached them. In fact, all of them, with the exception of the undead boy leading them, remained at a comfortable distance, working on whatever projects they were assigned. A great tower stretched into the sky where the town circle had once been- a mage tower, and the dark blue stone that composed it insinuated that it served as the quarters of Andorhal's liches.

The boy brought them to a tidy looking little tavern that, despite its modesty, was very out of place in the city of undead. The wood had been carefully stripped of mold, sanded, reinforced, and refaced. Little flower boxes around it had been painstakingly nurtured so that tiny little plants at last consented to grow there and give forth delicate little flowers. The stables smelled of horses, not of rot or undeath, and were freshly stocked with oats and hey- curry combs, brushes, and hoof picks. The inside of the tavern was well-lit and warm and smelled of food and drink. It was not as boisterous as most taverns, but that was evidently because there were not many living in Andorhal who needed a warm secure place to sleep, a bowl of warm soup, or a tankard of ale.

The most noticeable of the room's occupants were a paladin dressed in the most exotic plate mail going over blue charts and maps. An unfocused but eccentric looking ghoul with eyes that drifted lazily about independent of one another, was speaking excited about a subject. A ghoul beside him was busy taking down every thing that was being said, and several other beings, including some living beings that had evidently come to Andorhal for this purpose, were listening with morbid admiration to the speaker. The undead boy Lachdan asked Tirion and his group to sit and make themselves comfortable, and assured them that the Lady of Andorhal would be with them shortly.

"While you wait, would you perhaps like some food and drink?" Tirion eyed his men with slight amusement. Food and drink were extremely appealing to them, for they had eaten little but carrion grubs and moldy bread for years. Still, they each had a guarded expression, as each was unsure whether or not it would be wise to trust their undead hosts.

"I suppose if anyone had any intent to kill us, they would have done so at the gate rather then poisoning us with good food. Food and drink would be welcome."

The boy nodded. "I will see to it that your horses are properly attended to- with special attention devoted to the famous Mithrandor. If there is anything else you need, do not hesitate to let one of us know." With that, the undead boy went off to the stable hand's rooms.

Tirion was only mildly surprised when a ghoul wearing impeccably white clothing and with most of its pieces parts firmly attached, came up balancing a tray on its head and carrying one under each arm, and began to lay out plates before them. A few of his men, however, who had also noticed that the stable boy had never reported to the Bar Tender, looked confused. Apparently these undead could communicate perfectly between one another without any physical messages being passed. It would explain why the Abomination had referred to itself as "We" and how the undead had kept so perfectly out of the way of the paladins.

The food was delicious. Fresh bread, baked and buttered to perfection, properly grilled meat from a proper and natural creature, creamy delicious cheese, aged, sweet wine. The paladins' mood had greatly improved by the time Ketala Truae came over, drawing a chair with her, and sat herself at the end of their table.

"Greetings! I am sorry I could not meet with your earlier. Buchell was a brilliant architect in life, but he is generally entirely disoriented and his mutterings are unintelligible. When he actually does stumble upon an iota of rational thought, it is imperative he be coaxed to unveil everything he has come up with, as it generally happens to be revolutionary and thought provoking. The good news is that he does appear to be slowly recovering over time. I suppose only the future will tell whether he ever becomes rational and sane again."

"And what is it, Lady Ketala I presume, that you need architects for?"

The speaker was old- quite possibly in his fifties or sixties and in what humans generally considered to be elderly. His hair barely contained any brown any longer, and was primarily dark silver. His armor was not outlandish , but practical and dull. Yet the great warhammer resting on the ground next to him radiated light, and the corded muscles in his arms and lines around his eyes spoke of a wisdom and strength rarely found in the mortal races. Since the moment the paladins had entered the tavern, she had felt his presence as keenly as one would perceive a bonfire in a land of darkness. This close she could feel the holy waves radiating out from his person, and though his dark eyes spoke of a haunted past, they told primarily of the desire to forge a future worth living in.

Ketala Truae smiled and drew out a scroll, spreading it on the table before her. He lowered his eyes to it and lifted a brow, returning his gaze to her. Across the parchment sprawled a huge complex, a great fortress of towers and fortifications and walls, dominating the span of land between Andorhal and the mountain pass to Hillsbrad. The arching buttresses, huge, carefully protected windows, sprawling staircases, and dominate rectangular central tower all indicated one type of building-

A Cathedral.

"Tell me, has the Argent Dawn retaken Light's Hope Chapel yet?" Tirion nodded. "Then if I have my way, there will be two bastions of light in the Plaguelands to fight against this Undead Scourge."

"Why _behind_ Andorhal? And why, for that matter, in the Western Plaguelands, when it is the Eastern that now requires more attention?" Ketala smiled, rolling up the scroll.

"I build upon the hallowed ground surrounding the tomb of the fallen Sir Uther Lightbringer. A final tribute to a great man. My intention is that, seeing a bastion of the Silver Hand so close might lure those Crusaders who are not blinded by hatred down from Hearthglenn and the Scarlet Monastary. I am sick of fighting with them, sick of the death they cause and the death we bring to them. They are only the product of lost hope. Perhaps through this Cathedral, I can bring them hope again. And perhaps I can draw fighters up from other lands to help in the fight against the undead. The Cathedral is a symbol- a beacon of hope and of the triumph of good, just as it is a memorial to the greatest paladin who ever lived." Tirion was quiet, examining the interesting undead before him.

"… You have met my son?" he asked after a long moment. It was not the question he had intended to ask, and it did not quite fit, but he could not help himself. He had to know.

"Highlord Taelean Fordring, of the Scarlet Crusade. He was among the force that fought in Northrend. He was like you. A _true_ paladin. Not a mindless servant to vengeance. I marked him as a potential stalwart ally." The old paladin visibly flinched and Ketala's eyes narrowed, her pale lips moving into a frown. "… What happened?"

"… Taelean is dead. He was attempting to leave the Scarlet Crusade." Ketala fell silent, watching Fordring a long moment. Then she blew out a sigh and rested her cheek on her hand.

"Another valiant spirit ripped from this world. I am most sorry, dear paladin, for dredging up such a memory in you."

"I keep my son's memory with me as a reminder of what I fight for."

"Revenge?"

"Protection. To defeat the Scourge, and to dissipate the Crusade, so that no more are children, blind with grief, coerced into becoming pawns of hate and vengeance, and so that no more might homes and families be destroyed" Ketala blinked and grinned.

"We are going to get along just fine."

* * *

Somewhere North of Tyr's Hand

Evron Bartholomew had never really reflected on whether his luck was good luck or bad luck before. It was true that he had lost his son, daughter in law, and the husband of his daughter in law, all within the span of a decade. However, he had been taken in by a loving family, he had a warm and comfortable home, and he always had children around him to tell stories to. When one added together the pluses and minuses, it turned out that Evron Bartholomew actually had very average luck.

The thought was only mildly comforting. Evron now needed nothing short of a luck miracle. A quick scan of his predicament was all he needed to confirm that. The old blind man was bundled up in a scarlet cloak- the single most conspicuous and hated color in the Plaguelands. He was sitting upon an old lame carriage horse who suffered everything from ear fungus, to a thickening of the hooves, to intestinal parasites. His only weapons were a quarter staff and words of holy power, and yet he was blind and would, at best, be able to use his skills to defend against a single unimpressive opponent. The old man's only human companion was his grandson Ron, a child in the fullest sense of the word, who's military abilities only extended as far as toy swords and ponies.

As if all this were not enough to finish them off, they were wandering alone through the Eastern Plaguelands, surrounded by undead, giant man eating bats, demonic hounds, and huge yellow worms. Indeed, the trio of horse, man, and boy needed nothing short of a luck miracle. In retrospect, Evron admitted silently to himself that it had been extremely foolish to attempt this journey to Light Hope's Chapel. Whole contingents of Scarlet Crusaders perished in the Plaguelands every day. What hope did an old man and a little boy possibly have? Still, he could not convince himself that the best course of action would be to turn around and go home. Even in retrospect, he believed he would have still chosen this course of action. Why? Why leave Tyr's Hand without escort and go tramping into the Eastern Plaguelands?

All of that, just to see Ron happy again. Just to see him eager, and excited, and glad. Or, since Evron was blind, just to _know_ that the little boy was happy. They were going to Light's Hope Chapel- following the mountains to the East and praying with everything in them that they not encounter anything unpleasant on their way.

* * *

WOOT! Did you notice the line from Lord of the Rings that I used? "No Father Should Ever Have to Bury His Child" Anyhoo, I hope you liked this chapter. I also noticed that I got no reviews concerning the art from my website! Cmon people!

groups (dot) msn (dot) com (backslash) clankyn

Go to pictures and then click on the "Fanfiction" section. If anyone wants all the peices I scanned, i suppose I could send them. I've got quite a few more to scan, including a valentines comic, but I'm not scanning anything till people flatter my ego or deflate all my hopes in dreams with their reviews!

By the WAY! We have a new poll that you ALL must vote on, and hopefully that will give you reason to review!

**Here's the Poll:**

**1) Jaina + Thrall**

**2) Jaina + Kael**

**3) Jaina + Arthas**

I luv ya All! **YARG!**


	40. They Wanted a Battle

BWAHAHAHAHAH! I looked back at the height listings I posted at the beginning of this fic. Ketala is 5'7"-5'8", as I thought she was. But Nathanos is the same height as her! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! He be shorter den me! BWAHAHAHAHAHA!

Let's seeee, I got things to say! First, I currently am recovering from a 104.4 degree Fahrenheit fever! Woopie! Two, I'm starving, someone feed me something that wont make me puke. Oh, wait, you don't want to know about that?

**Poll Results!**

We had ten outstanding reviewers! I received email after happy email agreeing that Jaina and Thrall belong together, with Kael coming in at a close second with no votes but some sympathetic murmurs! And then all of a sudden some Homocidal mushrooms popped out of nowhere and said she should be with Arthas O.o… Seriously, look at the reviews! ITS NOT BECAUSE OF MY FEVER! Well, I guess they're Suicidal mushrooms now, but I'd be glad to add some extra little twists for that Arthas vote and the Kael sympathizing, BWAHAHAHAH!

Speaking of which, back before War3, the best interfaction relationship possibility was defiantly with Khadgar and Garona, don't you think? Hmm, I hope Blizzard takes care of the problem that all our missing heroes have presented.

**A Rant on Starcraft Ghost**

And by the way, once they added the Zerg to Starcraft Ghost, everyone knew they were just treading water. You don't put Terran and Zerg into a game and then not get to play Protoss, when Protoss are the coolest race out of the three. Frankly I think they were just testing the public reaction to being able to play so many different kinds of characters in a first person shooter (Which is typically limited to one kind)

**A Rant on Disclaimers**

Alright! I gotta answer some old questions I forgot to ever answer! I just got yelled at for my spelling twice again. I would like to restate something I stated in chapter 28: When I save any documents on for some reason some of my words get mashed together. Spaces are suddenly missing, and sometimes characters don't come out. I know this because I have checked and double checked documents before, and when they uploaded, I compared them with the original document and found that they had changed. I apologize for all this, and for any grammatical errors that make it through my proofreading phase. I will also not deny that I often misspell words or write a word I did not intend. However the majority of the errors are due to the uploader.

(Proofreading phase? Don't be absurd, you hate Proofreading- YEOUWpfpfpfpf)

Sorry, I had to strangle my conscience there. What? I don't have a muse, so I substituted old Jiminy Cricket.

**Repeating an apology for repetition. Oh bugger.**

I also have to apologize for repetition. I realize that the last section in the last chapter with Tirion was a bit of a let down. Ketala was telling ANOTHER person what her great plans were. So I thought I'd have Nathanos get irritated with discussions that get repeated in this chapter, heheheheh! I also skipped Tirion's whole getting used to Ketala and Nathanos, because, well, it would be just like everyone else's getting used to Ketala and Nathanos.

* * *

**_Fine, I'll Choreograph a Battle, But I Get To Introduce Another Character! BWAHAHAHAHAHA  
_**(aren't you envious of my BRILLIANT titles?)

* * *

Beneathe Caer Darrow, at the Entrance to Scholomance  
Several Months After Tirion First Met Ketala.  
(I got tired of waiting and had to go find the plot again)

**__**

There were three of them- two in front and one behind. They could have been a vanguard and a rearguard, if there was anything even remotely similar to guarding that was being done. The three were on the offence, the front two gliding silently like wraiths into battle, and the third moved in powerfully behind.

Tirion was very skeptical about approaching Scholomance without an entire legion at his back. The notion was considerably mad to his initial sensibilities. However, the reasoning behind this maneuver was quite brilliant. Scholomance was composed primarily of tight enclosed spaces and spell casters. An army of men would have been no more then sitting ducks for mass-damage spells. They would have been unable to maneuver in the tight enclosures of Scholomance, and would have proved more a hindrance then a help. That, and his companions had not underestimated their own ability.

Ketala thrust one scimitar in between both of Nathanos's axes and slashed diagonally, ripping open the belly of the duel wielding mage that he had been fighting. A mage that could use a single weapon well was uncommon. A mage that could duel wield two weapons well had hitherto been unheard of. Sadly, mage duel wielding would never get the attention it duly deserved. It would sink back into the recesses of history for thousands of years, due to the fact that the only recorded instance of such a feat had just been ripped in half, and wasn't having much luck holding his entrails in.

Without sparing much grief for this lost art, Nathanos Blightcaller twirled one axe over his opposite arm, and the jagged blade thudded deep into the skull of an onrushing skeleton. This untwined him from his companion fighter, leaving her free to dash away from him and plunge her scimitars into the magically generated shield of a spell caster. The shield had been weakened previously in the battle, and as she suspected it gave way, allowing her to sink her right blade deep into her victim's rib cage, tearing open his stomach and spilling acid and other fluids all over the ground. Her other scimitar had bounced off the shield, and she used the recoil from the hit to her advantage, swinging the blade over her head and to her left while crouching. The sharpened tip of the blade ripped into the mana shield of her next opponent, sending him off balance despite the fact that it did no actual damage.

Battle was not like a slow motion movie for Ketala, but both she and Nathanos were able to calculate their movements with such precision that it very well might have been one. The blade over her head exposed her under arm and chest, and so she lifted a boot, pressed it against the dead mage impaled on her first scimitar, and pulled the blade free. The suddenly release of the blade from the body gave her inertia, and allowed her to spin to her right, away from the living mage at her side. In a blink she had spun two hundred and seventy degrees and had come to face the living, shielded spell caster. This not only put her uplifted left arm in a better position and allowed to return to her side, but it also entitled her to fuel her right blade with the momentum of her spin. The scimitar flew in hard and fast, the slashing edge ripping over the mage's mana shield.

Most of the Cult of the Dead had few means to physically protect themselves. Several wielded daggers or staves, but very few were well trained in anything particularly lethal. Without weaponry or armor, they were sitting ducks for opponents as skillful as Nathanos and Ketala. Scimitar and axe-blows came in with relentless abandon, destroying all of the Cult's attempts to concentrate and cast spells. This problem might have been corrected if the diseases, poisons, and frost spells that had served the cult so faithfully were not ruthlessly dispelled, and Ketala might have been extremely hampered by the casting of endless holy magic if it had not been for Tirion. While he could not heal Nathanos, he was perfectly capable of the more advanced techniques of the paladin order, such as Blessing of Protection, and Purify (a spell that Nathanos hated above all others, and constantly maintained that he did not need, due to the pleasant tingling feeling and slight burns it caused every time Tirion cast it upon him.) If that were not wonderfully pleasant enough, the paladin could easily shield Nathanos, and at any rate, he could bomb holy energy down upon the monsters that the two undead could not see in such intense melee.

Ketala worked her scimitars ruthlessly against the mana shield of her opponent, smiling as she felt Nathanos's back press up against hers, one of his axes whipping into an approaching undead.

"_Having fun?"_

"_If only the Paladin wasn't here."_

"_You want me to leave?"_

"… _The HUMAN Paladin."_

She laughed mentally, stepping forward with one leg to accommodate for Nathanos as he moved one foot backwards to get a better defensive position. The step gave her all the power she needed to plunge her blade through the intestines of the mage before her. A snap of her blade cleaved the mage's spine in half, and the Cult member dropped to the ground, gasping and trying to crawl away on legs that no longer functioned. Nathanos pressed against her, forcing her to move forward again, but she did not mind. She merely picked a foot up and brought her heel down hard on the mage's temple. There was a crackling noise and the mage went still, suffering from a critical skull fracture.

"_I'm actually surprised that you haven't started crying yet. These beings are human, after all," _Nathanos remarked, drawing both his axes down and grinning as he clipped the front legs out from under the crypt fiend before him. It lurched forward and he drew one axe up, cleaving into its chest. The spider shuddered, spilling out cold, foul-smelling goo.

"_I mourn any loss of life. These things aren't truly living."_

"_Poetic. But they still possess beating hearts."_

"_There is more life in you, Nathanos Blightcaller, than there is in any of these puppets."_

"_How so?"_

"_Life implies living. These… cultists… do nothing more then develop ways to kill others. They don't change, develop, grow, smile, laugh, cry, or anything. To me, they are no more alive then the mindless Felguard."_

Nathanos smirked, slugging the crypt fiend upside the head with the bladed back of his axe. The creature reeled back far enough that he was able to cleave its head from its shoulders.

"_Indeed. Dandelion fights do appear to be beyond them."_

"_I'm actually surprised you aren't embarrassed about that."_

"_What's the point? You'd just pester me _more_ about it. And I am still surprised you haven't started crying yet, whether these cultists 'live' or not."_

"_Well, you are rubbing off on me." _

"_Oh joy! Perhaps you shall one day be enough like me that we can slaughter those Crusaders once more!"_

"_Only when the day comes that you skip through fields of daisies and clean cottages with woodland creatures."_

"_Don't speak of such horrible things!"_

"_Summoner to your left."_

"_Yes I see him. Would you mind?"_

"_Oh not at all." _

She twisted her grip on one blade so that she held it like a dagger. Scimitars are blades characterized by a curving edge that makes them superior slashing weapons. However, Ketala's scimitars were not like the stereotypical blades generally imagined to be found in the hands of Arabians in great desert lands. Sleek and elegant, they had a pronounced enough tip to stab with, and their curving shapes made them aerodynamic and fleet. While not the most efficient of puncturing weapons, they were useful enough for Ketala Truae's purposes. She took Nathanos's lead, stepping backward and plunging her blade deep into the leg of one of her comrade's opponents.

"_Skeletons, my side." _One of the Ranger Lord's shoulder blades pressed against hers, and again she took his lead, spinning so she faced his previous opponents and he faced hers. Ketala's choice of weaponry was not particularly useful against the skeletons rushing at the two companions, but Nathanos's axes were a fine substitute. A few more stabs and slashes into the battle, and there were pieces of splintered bone flying through the air like woodchips.

When the room was at last cleared, Ketala grinned and turned to Tirion.

"You alright?"

"I am indeed. I must admit, I had many misgivings against this when we first left Andorhal."

"You should have more faith in your allies."

"I simply had not known how skilled with blades you both were."

"Ah… well…" she smiled lightly. "There are stories behind that. Don't ask him his," and she jerked her thumb at Nathanos as she said so, "he gets grumpy easily." The Ranger Lord merely snorted lightly. "As for me, you know I was raised to be a weapon. I do not know why I have such talent with blades, however." she shrugged, starting to move on. "That's what I'm here to find out." Tirion blinked and then moved, quickly coming up beside the girl.

"You think this place might have to do with your existence?"

"I'm half elemental. The only logical explanation I can gather as to why I can possibly exist is that I was engineered. I think I might have been made here. At any rate, I want to know for sure. I will question the very headmasters of this cultist school if I must." Tirion frowned but nodded, taking his place behind his companions. Today would be a long, cold day.

Especially if the three Dreadmist spiders following Blightcaller around didn't stop leering at him. It was enough torment watching them bite deep into their victims and begin sucking out fluids and tissue.

* * *

Tarren Mill

If Umpi's first years in the company of Lydon were the worst possible years imaginable, then her following year was a spring walk in the park. Sure, Lydon occasionally gave her something that made one of her legs explode, or cause festering boils to appear all over her skin, but he always rescued her before anything particularly upsetting happened. She had spells on her to keep her safe from everything from dismemberment to decay. At her day to day disposal was a warm pool of water, a little nest of blankets and pillows to sit upon, and lightly toasted crickets and meal worms to gobble up. In fact, Umpi's little world was just as pleasant as any undead toad's could be. It was remarkable, the change in Lydon's temperament that her death had wrought.

At the moment, he was holding her in the crook of one arm and gently rubbing her back, smiling with all the glee of a homicidal maniac- which Lydon did, in fact, happen to be. The fact that he would lose his assistant forever, along with her fiendishly delightful expressions of pain, if he were to accidentally kill her, had tempered his sadistic disposition. He would not let anything jeopardize the unlife of his tiny assistant- not even himself.

This was for mental reasons- and the pun in that statement is most defiantly intended. Lydon was the very definition of insane, and he adhered to its most insignificant rules. He was entirely logical in an extremely illogical way, and that logic and illogic decreed that Umpi was to unlive a very long and safe unlife. Causing the toad pain had pleased him, and so he had come to associate Umpi with happiness in general. The two concepts- joy and toad- were irrevocably linked in the Apothecary's mind.

Lydon gently set Umpi down in her little personal bed of blankets, smiling sadistically and oh so very fondly down at her. The sounds of battle were getting closer and he sighed irritably, peering out the door and eyeing the onrushing Syndicate humans, assassins one and all. Although Tarran Mill was currently at a ceasefire with Southshore, that did not mean that Lydon was at all out of work. The Syndicate that flooded the mountains and the farmers of Hillsbrad were still constant problems that Lydon was delightfully happy to poison on a regular basis.

Currently, he was working on an ingenious concoction that was capable of turning a person into a human. The only two problems were A: Undead were already human, and were not transformed by the potion, and B: the potion never wore off. Lydon had managed to test it on an orc, and after many failed dispellings he'd allowed the disgruntled warrior to stalk off. The orc had immediately been mauled by the Deathstalkers of Tarran Mill, but even that hadn't been enough to alleviate Lydon's irritation with his ingenious concoction. As he hadn't been able to blow Umpi to smithereens like normal, he'd settled for petting the small toad.

Oh well. Maybe the Syndicate invasion force could alleviate his boredom. Lydon drew out a slender wand, shadow energies gathering in his other hand. He was just about to step out when a shadow bolt thudded into his home and sent vials crashing everywhere and Umpi into her pool of water.

Well! He'd never been so insulted! Within moments, Lydon was outside, and the poor sap who had dared to launch any excuse for a ballistic missile at the Apothecary's home was currently being split open from the inside out. Unfortunately, although Lydon was extremely keen on spotting the misbegotten whelp of a Syndicate invader who had dared disturb his lab, he was completely unaware of the fact that several vials had gone into the pool with Umpi and spilled their contents into her water.

* * *

Farther In To Scholomance

He was an oddity from the start. Rather then dressing in black robes like the rest of the Cult of the Damned, he wore robes offending to the eyes. That is not to say they were covered in gore or anything so gruesome- in fact, they were just the opposite. The robes were lime green with purple flowers, and it was quite possible that the necromancer was out and about in his pajamas without realizing it. He was old and pale, with a beard long enough to tuck into his belt. Interestingly, his eyes had no visible pupil, iris, or white, but instead glowed vibrant, living gold through and through. He wore an elongated skull over his head, but it constantly slipped down to cover his eyes, and he hunched quite noticeably.

When the trio of heroes came into his area of Scholomance and began slaughtering cultists, his reaction was to scream. However, he was not reacting to the heroes; He was looking at his robes, which he had finally realized, after many hours of seeing them, were in fact not his usual daytime wear. The strange necromancer then proceeded to chastise his robes sternly for several minutes, before tapping them with a wand and causing them to turn brown. Satisfied that no one could have possibly noticed his small mistake in which robes to wear that day, he returned to his work.

The screams of his dying peers appeared not to affect the strange man as he mumbled calculations to himself and went about carefully measuring precise amounts and calibrating precise instruments and taking precise notes. While Ketala and Nathanos were gutting open the other apothecaries and Tirion was hurling holy energy at them, he just muttered things about an unsanitary work environment, and would somebody please stop making all that racket. Nathanos hurled their last opponent into a table, knocking it over and sending vials of mysterious nature across the ground.

At this, the necromancer reacted, whirling about and drawing himself up with a flustered scowl. "Would you _PLEASE_ be careful? Those are delicate and irreplaceable instruments!" And as the party paused and eyed him in bewilderment, he sighed and mumbled something about adventurers always making a terrible hubbub. Swords here, magic there, not an ounce of decency in the lot of them. Under the watchful eyes of his opponents, he bustled around cleaning up all the spilt chemicals, clicking his tongue about wasted spider venom extract. Then, when he was done, he set himself back to the business of gathering some herbs and vials.

Ketala blinked, lifting an eyebrow, and then looked at Nathanos a moment. This done, she wiped her blades of blood, sheathed them, and crossed her arms over her chest, going over to see what the Necromancer was doing. The Ranger Lord blinked after her a moment and then groaned.

"What is she doing?" Tirion whispered, equally baffled with both Ketala's and the necromancer's behavior.

"She likes him. Just watch- in a minute she'll be asking if she can keep him." Tirion lifted a brow incredulously and stared after Ketala. The necromancer gave a little sound of triumph as he reached over and seized a bottle, and then he bustled over to another section of the lab, around a wall, and Ketala followed.

"So, what exactly are you doing?" the undead paladin inquired.

"SHH!" the necromancer scolded, throwing his arms in the air and waving them with abandon, causing his skulled cap to fall down over his eyes. "These are very delicate proceedings!"

How arm waving was in any manner delicate, Ketala could not fathom. However, she obliged the necromancer and closed her mouth, watching. The necromancer carefully measured out liquids and pastes and pieces and mixed them together, and he mumbled mathematical equations and magical incantations as he did so. (Hehe! A rhyme!) Every once and awhile he would pause to adjust the elongated skull upon his head, as it was constantly falling in front of his eyes. When he was finally finished he gave an "Aha!" throwing his head back and almost losing his skull entirely, before scrambling furiously to record his observations with extremely neat and precise handwriting. Ketala giggled and he jumped, hugging his book against him and whipping his head around to squint at her, his skull cap slightly eschew.

"Good goose gravy, girl! Are you trying to scare me to undeath?" Ketala just grinned beneath her helm and reached forward, slightly adjusting the old man's skull hat.

"Not at all, Mr. Necromancer, Sir, I was just-"

"My name is not Mr. Necromancer Sir! I'll have you know, you disrespectful whelp," and at this, he began to shake one boney finger at Ketala, "that I am a very renown Necromancer!" Ketala only grinned further.

"Of course. I never doubted you-"

"And you would do well to address me cordially!" he said, drawing himself up to his full height (which happened to be a few inches shorter then an already short Ketala).

"Well, if I knew your name, Sir-"

"My name is not 'Sir'! Paladins!" he said, throwing his arms in the air with exasperation. He eeped at the realization that he'd just thrown his book, and he immediately went on an epic search for it, despite the fact that the book had only tumbled a few feet away. Ketala shook her head, still smiling, and bent to pick up the book. She found the Necromancer looking under a rock the size of a lady bug for a book the size of his head, and tapped him gently on the shoulder. He jumped once more, falling flat on his face in the process, and when he got up his hat was over his eyes and he waved his arms about frantically, yelling "Help! Help! I've gone blind!" Once Ketala was able to lift up his hat, however, he saw the book and snatched it from her, and scolded her very sternly for stealing it from him. This done, he promptly marched back to the wrong experimentation table and began taking notes again- on an entirely different project.

"Ketala?" She blinked, looking at Nathanos. "Can I _pleeaseee _just kill him? Please?" She rolled her eyes.

"Oh come on, you've been killing people all day. Besides, he seems harmless."

"So does Lydon, and we do not need another one of him walking around."

"What's this? For once you're opposed to wonton destruction?" Ketala inquired, flashing a hidden grin at her ranger companion. The Ranger Lord sneered, but had no immediate response. Instead he just whirled around and stalked off to slaughter some more cultists.

Ketala smirked and returned to the Necromancer, listening to him mutter a few moments before she deigned to speak. "Excuse me?"

"Eh? Oh! You're excused for the day. Remember your homework- pages 307 through 231."

"No,I mean, I am attempting to politely catch your attention and would you please excuse me for interrupting you?" The necromancer blinked, lifting his head up.

"Why would I excuse you from class for interrupting me if you haven't said what you've interrupted me about first?"

Ketala didn't fight her luck by trying to explain the multiple definitions of the words "Excuse me".

"My friends and I are adventurers. We've been killing cultists in Scholomance all day and-"

"Oh so that's it, is it? Just because you're adventurers, you think you can run around killing anyone you like! Well listen here, missy-"

"Well you see, I'm at war with the Cult of the Damned."

"Oh. Really? Well I suppose that explains it then. What's your affiliation?"

"Well my base is stationed in the ruins of Andorhal, but I'm self affiliated."

"So it's a sort of personal war, is it then?"

"More or less, but since I'm not a member of the Cult of the Damned, political laws don't really apply to me."

"True enough, true enough."

"Well I was wondering if you were affiliated with the Cult of the Damned."

"I most certainly am."

"Well then it appears that you and I are at war."

"Indeed it does."

"Which would indicate that, due to our individual factions, I should attempt to kill you right now."

"Are you insinuating you would fail?"

"Oh not at all, but it's always best to be prepared- even verbally."

"Quite true, quite true."

"Well I was wondering about something. You seem a perfectly agreeable sort of necromancer. Would you perhaps like to work for me instead? I've no real desire to kill such a marvelously brilliant person."

"Hmm? Who?"

"I've no real desire to kill such a marvelously brilliant person as you." The Necromancer smiled, eyes lighting up at the praise.

"Well I wouldn't have any desire to kill such a marvelously brilliant person as me either. After all, I _am_ brilliant, aren't I?"

"Oh, most defiantly."

"I'm afraid I can't accept, however."

"Why ever not?"

"Well it's that whole 'dedicate your life to the cause' thing. I couldn't rightly just switch sides now."

"Hmm, a dreadful shame. Well, I'll think of something so as not to have to kill you. In the mean time, would you mind if I asked you some questions?"

"Well I am rather busy…"

"It will only take a bit of your time."

"Time is a precious commodity, my dear!"

"Well perhaps I can fetch ingredients for you in return? They're a commodity as well."

The Necromancer mused on this for a moment and then decided that was quite fair, and to ask away.

"Well, what are you doing right now?"

"Taking notes."

"On an experiment designed to do what?"

"Oh, this old thing? Well it…" He frowned and examined the experiment before him, rubbing his bearded chin. "Hmmm… Oh! Oh I remember now! This is the toxin we've been using to hatch plagued dragons! I've been trying to get it to find a way to accelerate their growth. After all, Dragons take hundreds of years to reach maturity, and baby dragons are of no use to any one." Ketala smiled and was just about to continue asking vague questions when she suddenly thought of something.

"Accelerate growth? How does that work?"

"Well accelerates their growth of course!"

"But wouldn't they just grow old and useless quickly?"

"Oh that's the tricky part. See, the point is to age them to maturity very quickly and either stop the aging process or transform them into undead so that they no longer age!" he said, smiling at the brilliance of it all.

"I see. And have you been able to successfully do this with other experiments?"

"Oh, indeed! Humans, orcs, night elves, just about anything! Dragons are a bit trickier, though."

"And did you come up with this method of aging?"

"I do pride myself on the fact that I did," he said, positively beaming.

"Has it ever been used before?"

"Oh yes! It's very useful for creating ghouls." Ketala blinked and then gagged inwardly.

"You mean like, having women produce babies that age quickly and then can be killed to produce ghouls."

"No, no, no, that would be unethical! We engineer the human offspring and grow them ourselves!" Another inward gag.

"Have you done experiments with elementals as well as dragons?"

"Elementals are hard. Useless things if you ask me. Can only be tainted by magic, and then they're just wild. Have to have a strong mage on hand to keep them under wraps."

"Is there any way for an Elemental to breed?"

"Of course not. That would be silly. They aren't organic; they have no genes or means to procreate."

"I've been told I'm half elemental. I was wondering if maybe I was engineered here." She reached up and began pulling off her helm.

"Well you were told wrong."

"I was told by Kel'Thuzad himself. You dare challenge your lord and master?"

"Well if he's wrong, of course I do!" Ketala blinked in amazement at the Necromancer as her helm came fully off, seeing how flustered he was that false information should be acceptable to any one. And then, quite suddenly, he froze, staring at her face. He lifted his head, cat-like yellow eyes gazing straight into hers without flinching. Slowly, he lifted a boney hand, his fingers carefully approaching her cheek and gently touching the flesh around one of her eyes. "_Oh!_" he said, as if suddenly enlightened on some mystifying subject. "I see! Well that's interesting, very interesting!" He retracted his hand and walked around her, before coming to stand in front of her and placing his hands on his hips. "A paladin? That's divine energy! Hardly doing your gift justice- what were you thinking?"

"Well… I have these," Ketala offered, drawing her scimitars. The Necromancer looked about to go on a tirade about warriors not being magical either, but when he saw the nature of her blades he smiled in delight and seized one, looking over it carefully.

"Aha! Aha! Designed for the channeling of elemental powers! Oh, simply ingenious!" But then he paused and whirled on Ketala again. "But you are still a paladin! Do you not have any self respect? What is the matter with you, stemming off your talent like that!"

"Er… well… no one ever taught me magic."

"Never taught you _magic_?" he gasped in horror, looking at her like she was some poor deprived child. "My goodness, what is with people these days? Well that won't do, that won't do at all. I shall simply have to teach you what others have neglected."

"But I thought you had to serve the Cult of the Damned?"

"Who? Oh, them. To be honest my lad, I never really liked them any ways. Sure, lots of freedom to practice the art, but well…" He lowered his voice and stood on tip toe to whisper to her, "some of them just aren't… _you know,_ right in the head."

"I see," she said gravely, and trying to hold her mouth in a straight line. "Well, in that case, why don't you come live with me? It's not a far journey."

"Oh, well, I couldn't possibly…"

"We could leave you here to pack up all you need, and when we return we could easily transport it all to where we live."

"Oh, well, in that case you have yourself a deal!" he said, grabbing her hand and shaking it vigorously, his skull hat falling down in front of his face again.

"Indeed. I look forward to your tutoring." The Necromancer beamed happily (and blindly) and even had the presence of mind to give back Ketala's scimitar. Whether or not he'd remember to pack up everything, Ketala could not know. She just smiled to herself and walked back to Tirion.

"… Why did you spare that horrible creature?" The Paladin immediately inquired of her.

"The necromancer?" she asked, blinking in surprise. "His problems are minimal in comparison with the rest of the people here."

"He's insane."

"Yes, but so's Blightcaller, Sylvanis Whisperwind, and High Apothecary Lydon. Insanity, more often then not, is just a coping tool. In any event, beneath the insanity, he just appears to be a good-willed but slightly crusty old man. What's the harm in that?"

"He just spoke of growing children as being ethical."

"But he did insinuate that keeping women for breeding stock was unethical."

"BOTH OF YOU!" Both paladins blinked, whirling and looking at a very irate Nathanos Blightcaller. "Shut _UP_ already! No one cares about the exact specifications of right and wrong! Just bag the old coot and if the wretch betrays us, kill him! For the sake of the Twisting Nether- life and death and insanity and sanity and good and evil- just shut up and kill the Scourge already! And you- Human! If Ketala wants to take in another stray, let her! She's taken in any entire undead army of them by now, and all you're doing is giving the same drab speech everyone else is! I'm F"""""" tired of it! I've heard angst conversations about moral fibre and the true essence of life ENOUGH TIMES TO KILL ME ALL OVER AGAIN!" And with this he stalked off down the hallway once more.

Tirion blinked and looked at Ketala. "…Strange, disrespectful person."

Ketala shrugged. "You can't talk. I _live_ with him." The half elemental grinned and then turned and sprinted after her companion. She headed down through a room they had already cleared and followed the blood and other signs of Nathanos's handiwork into an independent room, whereupon she slowed her pace and frowned. Strange. She should have caught up to him by now. Perhaps he went down a different side passage…"

A shriek from around the next corner made Ketala sprint forward again, and she spun around the next corner to see Nathanos charge into a Crypt Lord, ripping its legs out from underneath it. It reared up, shrieking, and spitting gouts of web upon him. The Ranger Lord was not quick enough to avoid the strands, and he swore venomously, hacking madly at the sticky threads. The Crypt Lord backed up, and then gave a chattering sound. Undead insects pooled down from his carapace as Ketala's eyes widened and the Undead Paladin charged forward.

She was too late. The Crypt Lord slammed two massive forearms into the ground, energy gathering around its thorax. Spikes thrust upward through the ground, piercing deep into the web. Nathanos went rigid. Rarely did the Ranger Lord ever deign to breathe, but he did so now, giving a small gasp of surprise as a twisting thorn burst up through his upper thigh, through his body, and out his waist. For a moment he held very still, staring up at the Crypt Lord, evidently quite mystified as to how he had been so easily caught. Then the thorns ripped downward, out of his body. He did not fall, standing very still within the white threads.

"NATHANOS!" Ketala dashed forward, plunging her blades into the Crypt Lord as it lifted its arms to crush her double, her counterpart. Her eyes flamed brilliant orange, her hair bristling as every fiber of her became alive with energy. She was not too late. She could save Nathanos. This Crypt Lord was not her equal. Its heavy blows slammed into her as she fought with all the fire of a spirit of chaos, her blades flying over its carapace and deflecting each blow.

But web caught at her limbs, slowing her drastically, and keeping her in place. She could not move. There was nothing she could do. She screamed, her blades blazing with flame and burning at the strands, but the slick material of the webs resisted her efforts, even as she poured more and more energy into breaking them and more and more energy into her blades.

She could feel the scimitars sucking at her, eating her alive from within. Magna. Maxime. Summa. Every millisecond drained from Ketala's core, and yet she could not break free. She _could not break free_. First one insect reached him, and then ten, and a hundred. They climbed up over his armor, slowly making their way to the gaping wound in his waist and thigh, and there they spilled into him, filling his wounds, eating away at him from within. He watched her very quietly, as if considering his promise not to leave her. After a moment he managed to struggle against the webs for a vain moment, but then the insects were seeking other openings- weak spots in armor, his face, his mouth, his eyes, his throat.

She could not break free. She screamed and screamed and screamed. Eldiaren. Jerod… _Nathanos…_There was nothing left. Eldiaren and Jerod had been tied to tiny portions of her compared to this. This was her other half- the second and properly fitting part of her soul.

Her soul… and then suddenly she was disarmed, unable to reach the blades that channeled the powerful energy within her. She fought tooth and nail, screaming. Not alone. Not like this. Not without any hope of love, or wholeness. She was nothing more then a carcass. Nothing more then the cult members around her. She was empty.

Her soul…

…

Not… her soul? Her heart? Basking in her lonely capture, restrained and unarmed, Ketala was given a moment to reflect on the deep, horrible ache within her. The Undead Paladin felt no loss of self, no missing half. There was no horrible emptiness, no sacrifice of half of who she was. Just a deep inner aching and loss. The feeling of the heartbroken.

Nathanos was not dead, her mind suddenly insisted. He was not dead. He was not in pain. He currently did not even need her. Ketala was whole, if terrified, and so she could be sure that Nathanos had not left her.

But she had seen him fall! She had seen it! Ketala struggled again for a long moment before she managed to calm herself once more. The arms that restrained her were cold and uncompromising but she forced herself to move and react to them, to slowly move her hands to where they were slightly free.

Ketala could not trust what she saw, but she could trust what she felt. At least for now. She closed her eyes, fighting off the images that overwhelmed her even with them shut, and slowly moved her hand along one of the arms that held her. Leather. Cold leather. She moved her hand as far as her arm's uncomfortable position would allow it, and her fingers ran over soft pliable leather and slender gloved fingertips.

"Nathanos…" she squeaked, her racing, troubled mind lapsing slowly into a calmer and more controlled state.

Nathanos Marris was not dead. He had not left her. Her mind reeled, understanding she had been tricked by the spirit of Arthas and yet too distressed and overwhelmed by her treacherous senses for her to relax. Her numb world spun, her betraying eyes saw no more, and she fainted.

When Nathanos first heard Ketala's inquisitive mind express worry, he could easily deduct that something of phenomenal importance was happening and he should probably speak with her telepathically to find out what was wrong. Unfortunately, Nathanos was an inherently selfish creature whose sadistic quirks tended to make uninvited guest appearances.

When Nathanos heard Ketala scream his name, he immediately dropped what he was doing – which happened to be sparring mindlessly with a very comely succubus- and sprinted for her location. He was going to have to hold a long, bitter, slightly manic conversation with himself when this was over with. It was rare that he allowed his emotions to influence his actions to the point where he made such an overwhelming miscalculation as this. Nathanos had left an extremely emotionally fragile angel suffering from near demonically induced hallucinations to wander alone in the most horrifying location on the surface of Azeroth. Worse, he had just put himself in a position where he'd need to show undo care for the being he loved and loathed most in the world. This was not going to be a very good day.

The Ranger Lord found Ketala in a battle against fifty or so trainee summoners, necromancers, and warlocks. This alone wouldn't have been troublesome, but there were two other factors that made the situation slightly pressing. The first was that Ketala was fighting against a school headmaster, a massive Crypt Lord, and a vile looking assassin. The second was that she was spitting out power fast enough to change all of her opponents into slightly musky fried mush in minutes. Flame and light were dancing from her weaponry like snakes, whips, and tentacles. Within seconds she no longer fighting the Crypt Lord, but utterly ripping it apart. Every chunk of carapace was being flayed from its body, every inch of flesh flamed and exploded and popped and burned. She was making such horrible and gruesome work of the Crypt Fiend that the school headmaster was backing off uncertainly.

Nathanos had made it halfway across the room to her when she screamed "Summa," and at that point he seriously wished something- anything- was there worthy of being utterly decimated by her. Even Ras Frostwhisper would have been more worthy of this mindless rage then the pathetic Crypt Lord she vented it on. Flaming tendrils of energy burst from her shoulder, blazing with white hot fire. They dug into the very substance of the room around them, and pulled the old and magically protected bricks down in droves. Her eyes literally flamed with power, and the gusts of air that her exertions cause made her hair flutter around her face and her armor creak and moan. Each scimitar was a whip and scythe of pure energy. She carved at the Crypt Lord until there was nothing left, and then she turned on the rest of the room, slicing down the inhabitants like they were little more then flies.

It took Nathanos this long to act because he was simply enjoying the sheer power and fury of her ability. When one is witness to the power of the elements made manifested, one cannot help but marvel at its simple strength and beauty. It was like watching a baby, untrained Ragnaros blow apart a daisy with an entire meteor. Yet Ketala was only mortal, and the sense that something was deeply wrong broke Nathanos out of his appreciation for raw carnage.

Ketala had never before exhibited such fury in combat, and he had to assume that "Summa" was a word spoken to her blades in order to coax them to use the most energy possible from her. While Ketala had never before exhibited signs of weakening due to using her elemental blades, he had to act on the assumption that she had no infinite well of elemental power within her, that she was not a god, and that she was consuming her elemental energies at a very dangerous rate. This in mind, he did the only real thing he could do. Dodging the flailing tendrils of flame and light was no problem for Nathanos, but he was unsure whether or not he could touch Ketala without spontaneously combusting. Still, he had very little choice. He could not reach her mind in this state. Nathanos quickly put away his favored axes, taking out instead his spare set, and charged forward. Theoretically, Ketala's physical abilities were not enhanced by her elemental attributes. She would move no faster, and with no more physical strength, than normal.

As hoped for, Ketala turned and met his charge, her blazing weaponry meeting his head on. The flaming energy surrounding the scimitars bit deep and hard into the metal of his magically endowed axes. The Ranger Lord's weapons were not holding out as he might have hoped, but he had to disarm Ketala somehow.

"What in the name of the Holy Light…?"

Oh great. The Paladin. Nathanos actually did sigh as he traded blows with Ketala, watching his axes blunt and weaken with each blow. Tirion knew of Ketala's elemental heritage, and of her ability to channel elemental energy through her blades. He even knew of how she could let her elemental side take over. However, people generally tended to have the absurd notion that if _they_ could be allowed to help, _they_ would be able to calm her down. Fools and idiots. The last thing Nathanos needed was for Tirion to interfere. Nathanos was only Ketala's fighting equal- no better, no worse. The odds that he would be able to disarm her before her blades drained the very life from her bones were slim, and he certainly could not outfight her with a nosy paladin distracting him.

There was a call to the light behind him, and then, to Nathanos's surprise, a whirling war hammer whipped forward, slugging Ketala upside the head. Tendrils of flame and light cushioned it, or the blow would have taken her head off, but she stumbled, blinking and dazed. Oh. Well… That was kinda nice. Course he'd never admit it.

Nathanos's weapons were not designed for the purpose of disarming a person of scimitars, but he knew Ketala to be perfectly capable of healing herself, and so he whipped the hard back of his axes into her hands, crushing and breaking several of her fingers. She jerked back into motion again, breaking the daze that held her, but it was far too late. Her movements were more sluggish, and each block caused the bones and muscles in her hands more damage, more disability.

When a shield of protective energy went up around the Ranger Lord, he had everything he needed to drop his weapons and grab her by the arms, brutally wrenching her fingers apart and pulling the blades away. She shrieked and fought madly, and by the time he'd tossed both scimitars away he was slightly singed, the shield had faded, and he sported bite marks in leather armor. As soon as the last scimitar was free, the tendrils of fire and light vanished and her eyes no longer flamed unnaturally. Her armor was hot to the touch and covered in exotic spikes, several of which were currently buried in his right arm. Due to these causes, Nathanos immediately set to pulling the heavy armor off so that she was more manageable and he could tell what the extent of the damage was.

The human paladin was crossing the room quickly, his metal boots clanging against crumbled stone. "What _happened?_"

Nathanos merely grunted at Tirion's question, pulling off Ketala's gauntlets and shoulder pads and nodded when he found no burns across her skin.

"Blightcaller!"

"I do not know," he said, not quite lying, but certainly not telling the truth. Ketala's gear was spiked at every joint in a fan-like formation. This allowed for weapons to glance away from the weakest points in her armor, and were actually quite ingenious when fighting anything smaller and less powerful then an Abomination. They were at her wrists, shoulders, hips, elbows, knees, and along her feet and over her ankles. Nathanos did his best to keep her pinned on her side, but she jerked and writhed herself free, and immediately kicked a leg up into his groin, spikes burying themselves three inches into his body.

Nathanos allowed himself nothing more then to mentally curse Zul'vii, healers, and the male anatomy in general up and down, backwards and sideward, in elfish, dwarf, and human. After all, he was dead, wasn't he? He had no use for the area that had just caused him undue agony. If Tirion was impressed by the fact that Nathanos seemed unfazed and merely continued trying to make his partner more manageable, the old paladin didn't show it. Then again, Tirion didn't know that Zul'vii had repeatedly healed the Ranger Lord from head to foot, or that Nathanos had begun taking great pains to keep himself from rotting in order to use his senses and archery skills to their full potential. Regardless, the Ranger Lord merely stripped down the white plate, thereby getting all weaponry out of Ketala's reach.

"What can I do to help?"

"Nothing." Beneath her armor, Ketala wore a tunic and breeches of bright yellow and orange-gold, and neither of which were damaged by the heat. Immediately the undead paladin moved to scramble away from him, and a wrestling match ensued. Frustrated, irritated, and downright annoyed, Nathanos finally just grabbed the girl around the waist, ignoring the fingers digging into his flesh and the powerful punches she threw at him, and hulled her into his lap, wrapping his arms around her torso and restraining her arms. She kicked and squirmed madly, biting at the leather armor of his forearms, but he managed to hold her in place long enough for her to calm down and go still, her dead lungs breathing in and out slowly and heavily.

"Nothing?"

"No." The ranger did not even bother to look up at Tirion, his dark brown eyes fixated on Ketala's face. Her eyes were blank and staring, both a brilliant orange-red in coloration. She was no longer screaming, her mouth set in a grim and expressionless line.

"… Her eyes are red. She is currently elemental?"

"Yes."

"But I've seen her demonstrate her elemental side before. This was _far_ different."

"Yes."

"What happened?"

"I don't know."

"But you can surely guess!" the old knight said exasperated, looking directly at Blightcaller.

"I could." None of Nathanos's attention was really on the paladin. He was watching Ketala shift, her fingers moving to touch the leather of his arm and feel across it.

"Then guess! What do you think happened?" The ranger's response was automatic. He was concentrating entirely on Ketala, watching her fingers carefully move up to his hand and stretch to examine it, her arm beginning to shake.

"For some reason, she thought I was dead." Tirion blinked, taken aback by Nathanos's response.

"Nathanos," the girl whimpered, her voice little more then a squeak of air, her eyes suddenly filling with greens and blue and pinks and yellows. The undead paladin then relaxed, going calm and limp, and her eyes closed as she passed out. Nathanos was quiet a moment, regarding his other half, his spirit's twin.

"We have to go the rest of the way without her. We can carry her up to Caer Darrow. There are plenty of undead on the surface who will care for her until we are done."

"We should wait until she recovers."

"She is not going to recover any time soon, and our surprise attack against Scholomance will be in vain. When we return they will be prepared, and there is no guarantee this will not happen again." For the first time, Nathanos looked up at the paladin. "She is suffering hallucinations. She has been having them since she fought Arthas in Northrend and the two battled mentally. But never have they been intense enough to make her react like this, to lose all grip on what is actually happening. Generally I am around to quickly help her differentiate between hallucination and reality, but she can generally sort out the two if I am not present. I should have reacted when I first felt something was wrong. But now nothing can be done. We have to go forward alone."

Well, at least it would be something new. No more angst conversations, no more long inner monologues about love and life and trust. He would get an entire day to slaughter Scourge without having to worry once about Ketala for any reason whatsoever. And he'd get to gross out and annoy a paladin the whole time. Life was looking good.

He picked up Ketala and cradled her against him, her cheek resting against his chest and her black hair brushing softly against his chin. Without another word to Tirion, he began carrying the undead paladin back up to Caer Darrow. Nathanos gave himself the entire trip to curse himself for being foolish enough to ignore her worry. Course… It was rather cool to watch her butcher that Crypt Lord…

* * *

En Route to Theramore  
Some Time Before Ketala, Nathanos, and Tirion Headed into Scholomance

Needless to say, Kael'Thas Sunstrider was quite happy to be on his way back to Theramore. Initially, Illidan had been keen on forcing the Blood Elf to remain behind, for Kael would have been able to maintain proper order in Felwood. However, despite Illidan's reservations concerning Kael's evident infatuation with the Lady Proudmoore, the Sorceress knew and trusted the Sunstrider prince. It was far more likely that she'd hear out Ember's case if Kael'Thas was present. The Blood Elf Leader was most defiantly happy. The way he hopped around and constantly ensured that they were on the right course and coaxing as much speed as was possible from their sails was proof of that.

Inwardly, Illidan was quite impatient with the slow speed of the fleet vessel. Personally, he could have simply generated a portal to outland and then generated a second portal to Theramore, but he doubted that the sorceress would take lightly to a demonic wormhole opening up in the middle of her city. Ember watched the shores of the great river as they went along it, and watched intently as, whenever they met a waterfall, the mages upon the ship gently guided the craft down the drop and set it gently in the continuing river at the bottom. The whole time Illidan held tightly on to her, but although Ember was not usually prone to staying still, she remained docile in his arms, watching the sights as they rolled past.

Down past Orgrimmar and Durotar, and the Barrans, out into the murky, dangerous waters surrounding Theramore. The trip was really quite a short one for being so filled with dangers, and now that Orgrimmar was allowing them past they really had no faction problems to worry about.

"So Kael'Thas, tell me about your lady-friend. Is she as fair as the new moon?"

"More like the sun," Kael responded, whereupon the Blood Elf, who had been gazing dreamily out towards Dustwallow Marsh, suddenly blanched and realized how neatly he had been coerced into saying something weak and childish, and Illidan grinned darkly, turning his blind eyes to the Blood Elf King.

"Well I suppose that would be your frame of reference then, as you walk about during the day time as if it were the sensible hour to be awake." Kael blushed up to the tips of his ears, staring ahead at the water. "Golden hair like sunbeams, as white as pure snow and garbed in royal violet. Vashj, how much do you wager that she and our mutual friend Prince Arthas have done some exotic things in their plush royal beds?"

Lady Vashj, while no older then Illidan, had a tendency to adopt a sniveling arrogant attitude toward the world that made her sound the part of an old hag. However, she managed the play this game quite well. "It ssoundss quite likely. After all, were not sshe and the princce involved?" Kael's eyes widened and he whirled on his master with surprising fierceness.

"You know not of what you speak. Stop it." Illidan arched a violet brow and chuckled.

"My skin is purple, yet there is nothing royal about me. It is quite possible there is nothing truly majestic about her. As for white, the odds are simply against her being as pure and innocent as she portrays herself, especially when she was involved in a love game between two princes. And golden? Your hair is yellow, Kael, yet you serve a demon and summon energy from the twisting nether," he said leaning back against the mast of the ship, crossing one leg over, his weight causing the mast to creek ominously.

"You slander her."

"I state the obviously possible to one who is oblivious with love. You'll see soon enough- things are never what they seem to be."

"Just because you were disappointed in love does not mean no one else can find happiness in it." The mast broke. There were shrieks as it thudded down backwards over the back of the ship. Illidan merely stalked up to Kael and hoisted him up by the collar, holding the elf a good four or five feet off the ground.

"Are you hoping I'll kill you?" he hissed between clenched teeth, his eyes flaming green through his bandana. "Sweet pure Jaina, waiting all this time for _you_, ignoring love for a dashing prince, even though you were too weak and pathetic to tell her you cared. Sweet, beautiful princess, like the sunrise or sunset, alive and sprightly; untouched by time, love, or a lover's caress. She loved him, did she not? He abducted her just a year ago, no? I will tell you the truth, Kael: She is likely no more then a common whore, who has 'pets' brought to her room monthly for her own enjoyment. Nothing in this world is so innocent or untainted; you live in a dream world."

"Nothing," Kael gasped, his eyes triumphant, "but your Tyrande?" Illidan's hand constricted so hard on the Prince's throat that the elf's eyes rolled upwards, jaws squeezed shut. Still, a triumphant grin remained on his face. Illidan snarled, releasing some of the pressure so that Kael'Thas could breathe.

"Let us say for a moment that you were correct, that this sorceress is one blazing light in a world of darkness, and that when everything else is corrupted and sick, she stands innocent and resolute. What then? Will she love you when she looks into your eyes and sees not the green of earthly flora, but instead the burning flames of the damned? Will she love you, king of a broken race, you who gave into the darkness to quench your thirst for power?"

Illidan's eyes blazed, a dark grin forming on his lips. Kael just stared, eyes wide, face blank. "That is all you are to her. That is all she will _ever_ see: a monster, a demon, a manifestation of evil." Illidan set down the prince, watching Kael slip to his knees and lower his head so that his golden hair slipped down to cover his face, his green eyes wide, face blank. The elf was heartbroken, and it showed both in his yellow-green eyes and in his sickly aura. The half demon merely smiled.

* * *

Orgrimmar  
Some time before Ketala, Nathanos, and Tirion went into Scholomance

Thrall eyed the tiny sorceress before him with a mixture of amusement and astonishment.

"A ball?"

"Yes, you know, dinner, music, dancing, fancy dresses…"

"You are inviting me… Warchief of the Orcish Horde… To a ball?"

"Do you see anyone else in the area with whom I might be speaking?"

Thrall actually did take the time to look around, scanning his entire meeting room, as if someone might be hiding in it.

"You are the strangest…- yes, I am inviting you, Warchief of the Orcish Horde, to a ball." He looked at her and lifted a brow incredulously. "It is a diplomatic affair. The King of Stormwind has speakers there who will eventually discuss with me the future of our two races. I've the entire place rigged, so there is no chance of any harm coming to you, and I thought you would be able to make a very good impression on them while firmly reinforcing my position on the matter."

"And you think I will make any difference to them… why?"

"Several reasons. One, you understand human customs and etiquette. It's not like we could send Rexar in your place- although I've toyed with the notion for mental laughs. Two, the King of Stormwind is missing, as you are most certainly aware. Anduin Wrynn, his son, is currently ruling in his stead. Ketala had him send these ambassadors for the purpose of making peace in exchange for the promise that I and Ketala would assist in locating Anduin's father. I have met the prince myself. He is a small boy in dire hope of being reunited with his only parent. Out of every ambassador Stormwind has ever sent, these will have the most influence, and will be the most important to impress."

Thrall blinked, eyeing the manipulative and clever human before him a moment.

"I am also presenting the Doomhammer at this ball, to show it as a symbol of goodwill and to allow gossipy nobles to spread the word to Azeroth without me ever having to directly report anything. This way the rumors being passed around Stormwind will have all originated from Theramore- and my island is very much in debt to you.

"You astound me, Miss-"

"Jaina."

"You astound me, Miss Proudmoore. You are manipulative."

"I'm a Princess. Understanding diplomacy is something I've been taught well."

"Like hair braiding and not fraternizing with the enemy?"

"I prefer sorornizing. It's more feminist." A grin cracked over his face.

"Frater- Latin, masculine, singular: Brother. Soror- Latin, feminine, singular: Sister."

"You amaze me more with each passing day, dear Warchief. Now will you come or not?" Thrall pondered, sitting down in his great chair and tapping the arm rest slightly, resting his chin on one of his palms. "May I bring anyone else?"

"The ball room is for those of the higher rank. Still, while body guards would not be permitted, close advisors would. Most everyone's close advisors are good with the blade." He thought for a moment. "Although Nazgrul is out of the picture." The orc laughed, grinning at the violet and white clad sorceress.

"Is there some sort of war going on between you two that I am unaware of?"

"Not at all. I just don't think he considers me to be a warrior."

"Eh, with how scrawny you are? You are most likely right."

"An orc would be quite acceptable, though bathing grooming, hairstyling, and armor polishing would all be necessary. A certain degree of refined behavior would also be necessary. Trolls are much the same, except it would be really nice if you could find one that wouldn't scare small children. Tauran would be the bodyguards of choice. While imposing, they are generally quiet, gentle, and well tempered."

"I have just the Tauran in mind."

"So you will come?"

"If you teach me to dance." Jaina looked at him, blinking.

"You can't dance?" Thrall lifted his head, looking at her in surprise.

"You expected me to be able to?"

"Do I look racist to you?" A grin spread over his face. "Thrall, your penmanship is better then mine, you know the position and use for ever culinary utensil in every elaborate dining set up, you carry yourself with the poise and grace of the nobility, read philosophical books and military journals, can cook, and drink tea. Of _course_ I expected you to be able to dance." He burst out laughing, standing up and making an "I surrender" gesture with his hands, and stepped off the dais of his throne so he was more on her level.

"I was educated by the servants of a human 'noble,' but no one ever had the foresight to assume I would ever require the ability to dance."

"Well then, I shall have to teach you, shant I? Would you like your lessons now or later?"

"How long do I have before this ball?"

"Seven days."

"Well by all means then, teach me to dance, as none of my men are here to watch my embarrass myself."

"Oh, by all means!" She gave a flick of her staff and runes appeared next to her, teleporting a large crystalline structure to her side. Thrall blinked.

"And that is a…?"

"Records sounds," she said, slipping a small crystal into a slot. Immediately a slow waltz hummed out of the crystal and Jaina gave a bow as if celebrating her own ingeniousness. "Now, have you ever seen someone dance?"

"I am utterly ignorant as to all aspects of formal dancing whatsoever."

"Good grief. You're a lot of work, you know that? And your height is excruciatingly unhelpful."

"I am so very sorry. I shall ensure the crossbreeding of my race with goblins in order to make orcs as diminutive as you, so that further generations might not suffer this terrible height impediment."

"See that you do," she said with a witty, solemn tone. "Now give me both your hands and trust I know what I'm doing." The Warchief complied, offering both appendages to the sorceress, who took one and placed it on her waist (something he blushed and stiffened at), and held onto the other. Her remaining hand she set upon his shoulder.

She grinned. "You are WinterVeil Feast colors, my friend. Generally the male partner leads, but I shall have to do so in this instance. The idea is to follow me, taking single, graceful, small steps, and ensuring not to step on your partner's feet. Seeing as you are a warrior and are reasonably aware of spatial relationships, I doubt that will be a problem. However, if you do happen to step on my foot, you'll be made aware by a loud crunching noise."

The orc blushed again slightly, and as Jaina took a step backwards, he moved slowly to follow, ensuring never to lift a foot higher then a centimeter off the ground for fear of accidentally doing harm to the tiny sorceress. After a bit of dancing and getting her green companion used to moving in close, careful proximity with another person, she grinned. "Well at least you learn fast. Now, the steps for each kind of dance are different. If you end up having to dance at all- which is dubious, though not impossible- you will have to lead, and so I will have to show you them all. Formal dancing is like anything else formal- boring unless you somehow manage to make it interesting to yourself."

The orc chuckled, grinning down at the Lady Jaina Proudmoore. "Well it would only be suiting that I dance with you, would it not?"

"I suppose you're right. I actually half expected you to decline coming."

"Why is that?"

"Because it is so vastly out of your element, forcing you into a situation where you will likely be made sport and unable to fight back. Because you are a warrior at heart, not a dancer." He merely smiled.

"Any hope at peace is worth some momentary discomfiture. It is even worth having to behave like a human for a single night."

"Indeed. You shall have to teach me how to use some martial weapon."

"Oh? And why is that?" he said, sizing her up."

"Well it would be hard for me to repay the favor and be forced to participate in some element of orcish culture if I didn't know how to use _some_ weapon, wouldn't it?" He laughed uproariously and gave her a little spin out of his arms.

"Like this?"

"Perfect."

"Jaina, I think you are better suited to your books and magic," he twirled her back to him.

"Oh come now, Thrall, you should think more of me. If you can act the part of a human-"

"It's a little different then that."

"Are you being racist, sexist, magist, or just trying to protect me?"

"A tad bit of all four, but mostly the latter two."

"Well… Then teach me the basics of shamanism, and teach me orc culture, so that I might understand and deal properly with orcs, even if I am but a small sorceress with no martial ability whatsoever." He blinked, looking at her hard a long moment, the expression in his blue eyes unreadable.

"It will take much time, application, and effort. You will have less time to study magic…"

"As my father says, books aren't everything, Jaina. Besides, it would only be a little bit. I have to put myself on par with you somehow." She grinned at him.

"… Then I shall arrange for you to be taught."

"It's a date, then."

"You surprise me at every turn, Miss Proud-"

"Jaina."

* * *

Wahahahahah! I'm sorry guys, I wanted to write more, but the section in Scholomance took up most of the pages! Maybe I'll get lucky and will be able to write the rest soon. I already have a few pages done and a ton of ideas.

Umpiiiii! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! The life of a toad has never been so fraught with obstacles.

Poor Kael.


	41. Coincidence is Mahi

Woot! We finally get to the ball!

Well, this is a sort of set up chapter before we get to some more actiony dramatic parts. I'm planning many big things ahead. But that doesn't mean its a filler chapter! Why? Well because of Grom. Yes, that's it. We blame everything good that happened in this chapter on Grom, and he's been dead for quite some time now. So here's a tribute to Grom! FEAR THE SCREAM OF HELL! BWAHAHAHA!

Ahem!

Anyway I have some **GOOD NEWS!** No. I'm not refering to the gospel. I have **pics of Thrall and Jaina** which NIETHER OF YOU MAY LOOK AT till after you read the mushy part, or you'll ruin your appetite! They're just sketches- little dallies I did in my free time, and certainly not finished works, but there are two of them. One is shaded better then the other, but the point of having two is that their poses are slightly different. I want to **know which one you guys like most, **so I can decide how close they should be in future picturesMaybe if you all sign a petition and send me lots of hugs and kisses I'll draw and color three or so shots of the scene from different angles, and there will, for the first time, be art of Jaina and Thrall together. If this happens, I'll try to mix my style with the actual Warcraft Style so Thrall is far more recognizable. Although I do kinda like the way I did it because it really brings out the "Noble savage" aspect. Oh well. Ah, I can just envision painting this on a huge canvas with real 3D-looking shapes, and the lighting, and the armor, and-! So cute!

I also recieved some art from RogueChimera! Tis adorable!  
**Website is groups (dot) msn (dot) com (slash) clankyn**

**IMPORTANT NEWS BROADCAST STRAIGHT FROM KYN'S BRAIN!****  
**I'm starting a new story! I'm getting bored! When the heck are they going to come out with The Burning Crusade Already! Anyhoo, I'm aware this story is getting a bit too big for its ego, and its time to move onto the sequel, so I'm going to lay down the ground plans for what's going to happen. First, there is a large event that has to happen in order to truly define Jaina and Thrall's relationship with one another. Then Scholomance has to be reasonably cleared. There are going to be some really dreadful things that happen. Then we need to have one of those chapters where the main character finds the resolve to carry on, and a short clip about what happened to Kel'Thuzad. We need to find where MahiMahi has been all this time, and get in touch with Zul'vii. I'm guessing that this will bring us to about Chapter 45.

In the mean time, I need to do something to keep everyone entertained until the expansion comes out! (And I need a brake from this fic). I've decided to write a new story that I've been thinking about for quite some time. One day I got extremely bored of all the interracial relationship stories out there. Although they're all very good stories, I was bored of seeing Troll + Nightelf or Orc + Human, and I was also very bored of seeing the Horde OC being a bestial male and the Alliance OC being a delicate female who can appreciate wild beastiality. Until someone out there writes a Tauran + Gnome, I've decided to create my own interracial relationship with a thousand humorous twists.

Enter Buuka, the massive female orc warrior, and Revon, a priest of the Silver Hand. Join them as Revon struggles to prove he is as manly a man as any paladin, Buuka smashes things and tries to hide the fact that she's an artisan engineer, and the two of them manage to lose and find eachother a thousand times (mostly unintentionally) and demolish the demonic popluations of Azeroth and Kalimdor long before they ever learn eachother's languages.

I shall probably name this story simply **Buuka and Revon**. Do not worry, I shall continue this story, I shall write a sequal, and I shall probably start on the sequal long before the expansion is released.

**---------------------------------**

**_Oh Coincidence, Thy Name is Mahi_**

**---------------------------------**

Theramore  
(Around the same time Ketala, Nathanos and Tirion entered Scholomance)

Beautiful golden hair was splayed around her shoulders. Her white and violet dress spiraled elegantly around her form in waves of color that strongly resembled flower petals. Cyan eyes flit to him as he entered, both exploding with internal spirit.

"Kael'Thas! It's wonderful to see you again so soon!" She stepped down from where her maids were preening her gown and did a little twirl. "Do you like it? It's for the ball tonight!"

Kael blinked, startled, and regarded the small sorceress. "It… looks lovely, Lady Jaina," he said uncertainly. She smiled and came up to him, her whole face aglow.

"There is a ball tonight. I would have told you about this sooner, but you had already left Felwood when I went to invite you a week or so ago. I know it is short notice, but the invitation still stands. You should come!"

"I-" He blushed, uncertain. "My lady, Lord Illidan came with me to Theramore, as you are undoubtedly aware. He desires to meet with you as soon as possible. It is… a matter of some urgency…"

"Which is what the courier you sent told me. My answer is the same- I shall meet with him tomorrow. Tonight is far too important for me to miss. It is a matter of great diplomatic importance. And you," and she prodded him in the chest plate, "must come! I insist." Kael blushed once more, a bit overwhelmed by the busy state in which he found the sorceress.

"Lady Jaina, I am hardly prepared for such an occasion-"

"Ah, of course! You've only just arrived!" She beckoned a maid back to her. "I shall give you one of my guest rooms! You can have a hot bath, and prepare yourself! Ah- I shall not take no for an answer!"

Flustered and embarrassed, Kael'Thas watched as Jaina Proudmoore sent the maid off to a certain bath related duty. The tide of preparation and work threatened to overwhelm him, and in desperation he clung to his final card. "I had hoped to talk to you a bit privately, Miss Jaina-" She blinked, turning to him with those stunning cyan eyes, and immediately all the work and plans had hushed in order to make room for him, and the Blood Elf Prince held center stage.

He paled accordingly and swallowed hard, biting back on a sudden impulse to swoon. Corresponding perfectly with his stomach butterflies, his mouth decided to begin fumbling words and forgetting sentences. "The-… The problem that Lord Illidan desires to confer with you about involves demonic possession. Because of what you know of Medivh, and because of what you were able to do for Grom Hellscream, he was hoping you might be able to formulate a way to combat it." Jaina's brows furrowed and she nodded slowly.

"That is quite important. I shall be sure to see him first thing in the morning. But the ball this night is still more important. You see, my list of guests is rather unprecedented. It is of utmost importance that I am there to see that things go smoothly. All future diplomatic relations with the rest of the Alliance might rest solely on how tonight progresses." Kael blushed.

"Then I am hardly of the material cut for such a ball. If anything, my presence could prove a hindrance. The Alliance has no love for the Blood Elves any longer." Jaina smiled, her rosy lips turning up in the perfect picture of mischievous youth.

"I assure you Kael, your presence is a vital piece of what I am trying to conduct. What is wrong? You seem uncannily bent on avoiding my ball. Have I done something to earn your contempt?"

The elf gave a vigorous shake of his head, eyes widening. "Of course not, my lady! There is nothing you could do to- I mean… I merely thought myself…"

She laughed, and her smile reached her cyan eyes and sent straw colored hair shifting. "Kael'Thas, I do believe you have self confidence issues. Come! I shall show you to your room myself!" And she turned and began heading out of her room.

"Jaina- wait-" he called, lifting a hand slightly towards her. She looked back at him, tilting her head to the side. By the Sunwell and all his ancestors! What was he doing! "…Is…" By the Sunwell and the Twisting Nether! His whole throat contracted, but his fluttering heart needed to know. He _needed_ this. "Is there any part of you that still thinks of me as you once did?" he inquired weakly, and his voice cracked as he said it. She blinked, going quiet, her head tilting to the side.

"… Kael…"

The implications attached to the sound of his name did not give him enough time to brace himself, even though she took the time to fully turn towards him again and to shake her head despairingly.

"… No."

He quivered and sat down slowly on the small bench beside him. "Kael," she murmured, coming up, but he stopped her with a sorrowful look.

"Arthas?"

"No," she answered very firmly. "But we have changed very much since our innocent youth. I am no longer a naïve child. And for that matter, neither are you." He looked away at this, wincing. She shook her head and came a little closer. "My heart does not belong to anyone at the moment. Or if it does, it still hasn't let me know, and so I am unaware of it."

The look of hopelessness and despair that crossed his face was almost too much to handle, and Jaina frowned, looking at the Blood Elf with sincere worry. "What's wrong Kael? You look… spirit broken…" The green orbs circling him immediately vanished and she laughed and shook her head. The sorceress came directly up in front of him and placed a hand to his chin, lifting his head for him to look at her. "Not like that. I mean, different from several weeks ago when you were here. What happened?" The elf pulled away and looked off to the side. Jaina shook her head, looking around the room, and ran several fingers through her straw colored tresses, her brows moving together in thought. She blew out a sigh and looked back down at him, and decided to try again.

Slowly, Jaina moved a hand and placed it against his cheek, turning his face towards her again, ensuring that he was looking directly into her eyes. "It's okay, Kael. I told you I don't fault you for what you did. It's not you, and it's not what you chose. I have all faith in you on that matter." She smiled as he stared at her in surprise and hope. She had all faith in him? "The problem lies in the fact that we have been separated for years during which we grew tremendously as people. We hardly know each other. Before I go around pronouncing my love, I think we should reacquaint ourselves for some time. We were friends for years and years as children before any relationship really began."

Hope welled up within him, lifting up his insides and making every nerve brim with energy. Yet still… "May I court you?" She blinked, drawing back just to eye him in surprise, before cocking her head to the side and grinning.

"You want to date me?" He blushed considerably, wringing his armored hands together.

"I find 'date' to be a crude word, and it is not precisely what I meant…" She laughed slightly, a grin spreading over her full lips, her cyan eyes dancing with spirited mirth. At last, she came up to him and gently took one of his hands, wrapping her fingers gently around it.

"You may court me eventually- once you can stand the thought of courting without blushing." He blushed and she grinned. "But I beg, Kael, that you first and foremost be my friend. A relationship might not work, but I will always hold you in the highest regard as a good and stalwart friend." He breathed in once, slowly and carefully, to keep himself from dancing or fainting. When he was relatively calm, he slowly nodded, gently squeezing one of her hands. "I hope that's enough. It's all I can promise you. Prepare yourself for the possibility that my friendship is the most you will ever end up with.

"To know there was ever a chance, and that I explored it to its fullest, and to still be in your highest regard, shall be enough for me."

"Then you are still the Kael'Thas I hoped you were, and not all is lost," she whispered softly. And then, quite swiftly, she was a foot or so closer and gently kissing his cheek and squeezing his hand. And then she was gone. He watched where she had exited for a long moment before smiling weakly.

"I love you, Jaina Proudmoore… And I always will…" He looked down at his red armored hands. "Even though you will never love me in return."

**---------------------------------**

Theramore Ballroom  
(The Next Day)

"Thrall son of Durotan, Warchieftain of the Orcish Horde."

There was no lull in the music, but verbal silence immediately reigned throughout the ballroom, every head swiveling to look up at the grand staircase. The orc stood their, impeccably groomed in the fashion of a human. His hair was all pulled back behind his head and tied off with a blue ribbon. He was clean shaven and his tusks were polished white. He stood straight and poised, massive shoulders rolled back, making him look more noble then brute. Most important of all, he had been coaxed out of the thick black plates of Orgrim Doomhammer's old armor (although the suit of armor was not that far away, and was easily exchangeable via a spell of Jaina's if need be). Red was generally used to symbolize the Horde, but blue was a far less hostile color and would make a better impression. Unfortunately, blue was the color of the Alliance. Donning it was something almost subservient to the orc's sensibilities, and it had taken much negotiation before he and Jaina finally settled on garbing him in gray-blue armor the same color as a stormy sky, with the Horde's insignia emblazoned in dull red on the chest piece and shoulder pads.

"Baine Bloodhoof, son of Cairne, Chieftain of Bloodhoof village."

The neutral colors made all the difference in the presentation as the orc slowly descended the staircase, followed by a massive young Tauran with tawny colored fur. However, as he reached the bottom of the stairs, there was a wide gap between him and the humans. There were no friendly faces- most looking at him in surprise or downright disgust. Baine would be able to blend off into a corner, but not the Warchief of the Orcish Horde… not the one being almost every human would love a chance to assassinate. Jaina slipped up to the ground, coming up to him and bowing very lightly. He smiled inwardly and bowed in return, before gently taking her hand and placing it into the crook of his arm, walking with her into the crowd. The humans parted for them, giving them a wide path, but never once did the little human sorceress falter. Instead she escorted him to the main table around the dance area and bade him sit. Kael'Thas Sunstrider and Daelin Proudmoore were both there, and both stared in aw at the two; at Jaina for being so bold as to invite an orc to an Alliance ball, and at Thrall for looking the part of a perfect gentleman.

"Highlord Bolvar Fordragon, Regent of Stormwind." Thrall stiffened as every eye in the room turned towards the stairs again, and then he glared at Jaina, seeing the smirk forming on her lips and the wink she gave him. Fordragon was the ambassador. Anduin had sent his very protector because he was also his most trusted advisor. Doubtless it had taken months of planning before Fordragon would have finally left, and the only reason such a massive step would be taken was if Stormwind truly, seriously, meant to negotiate.

"You, my Lady Proudmoore," he hissed to her with obvious respect, "are a fiend. An insidiously clever fiend."

Jaina merely smiled and went to go retrieve the Highlord and bring him to the main table, long before anyone could ever mention to him that an orc was present.

**---------------------------------**

Tarran Mill  
(Indeterminable Time)

Lydon smiled triumphantly as he jabbed his wand up the nose of his final kill, swirled it around, and promptly ripped out the brain matter through a single nostril. And they said only Nerubians could do it! Well, he'd proven them wrong, hadn't he! A Syndicate Rogue was pinned to the foundation of a building, quite close to where Lydon currently stood. Although the Rogue had several spears through his body and was currently dying in a prolonged and exceedingly painful fashion, he had the presence of mind not to scream like a girly man at the gray ooze dripping off the apothecary's wand.

Due to this fortunate circumstance, Lydon ignored him, and instead concentrated wholly on trying to balance a jellied human brain upon a slender bone wand. The Syndicate Rogue in question was later cannibalized, but if he had known the full extent of Lydon's character, he would have probably agreed with us that he drew the better straw.

The apothecary, on the other hand, was so engrossed with his balancing act, that he made it all the way to his home without ever once looking up. Once the brain was carefully weighed, measured, and poured into a flask, he at last had the presence of mind to realize his lab was an utter mess. Lydon clicked his tongue disapprovingly at all the broken vials and splattered fluids, placing his skeletal hands on his hips. Syndicates! Rude vagabonds at the very best. Here he'd labored for days and weeks over each one of these chemicals, and they'd all been wrecked with a single shadow bolt. Perhaps it would be wise for him to invest in some structural enhancements for his favorite building.

The apothecary grunted, kneeling down and examining some broken containers. Some things could be salvaged. Others he merely cast a spell to rid himself of. Tidying up his home was a task Lydon participated in quite often, and it did not take him long to reach his toad's habitat. He discovered it littered with volatile chemicals and empty of toad. Still, the look on the undead's face was anything but concern. He merely enacted his spell to cause Umpi to glow…

And nearly jumped out of his skin when the entire area underneath a small desk began to blow bright blue. For a moment he was worried that some explosive potion had pasted Umpi bits all over the underside of the desk, but the blue was too think and concentrated. Umpi was there, and she was solid, and she was _huge_. Slowly, carefully, the apothecary crept towards the desk on all fours. A fallen and splintered chair half covered the small desk, but he pushed it aside and reached hesitantly into the darkness.

Something shied away from Lydon, but he seized onto it and pulled it towards him, allowing his glow spell to fade. For a moment, all the world was still. Lydon's teeth immediately grit together, his head cocking to the side, as he debated what exactly to do. His first impulses were to scream, hurl fireballs around, and throw a fit; they were generally his first impulses to anything unpleasant. Lydon's fingers were latched around the arm of a full sized, unscathed, nude, undead female. She was regarding him with eyes that reminded him of a deer in headlights, and had all of the same intelligence. The apothecary's dagger-like fingertips tightened with anger and insane confusion, his teeth grounding back and forward, and the female made a small sound of pain, trying to pull back from him.

Lydon blinked and squeezed harder, till he heard bones popping and crackling. She squealed, curling up on the ground and covering her head with one hand. The apothecary paused and gave a deep, rattling purr from the back of his throat, his eyes glowing with homicidal, sadistic fervor. Still Umpi. He promptly began to fold her arm back on itself and the female screamed, jerking back from him. The apothecary merely grinned, twisting and turning the limb until her mad, feverish jerking promptly ripped half the limb free from his fingers.

Umpi squealed, thudding back into a desk and causing potions and flasks of acid to fall and shatter, some exploding upon content. Her eyes went wide at the horrible half memories this induced, and she bolted, hitting another stand in her pain induced haze. Lydon was enjoying his assistant's terror and agony until an explosive vial landed right next to her and took out one of her knees, with another explosive vial teetering above her. His eyes went wide and he dropped the part of her arm he still held, bolting forward and grabbing her, yanking her out from underneath the deadly concoction. It wobbled, dropped, and put a hole four foot deep through his floor. Umpi herself was still in a daze, and so she merely shuddered as he held her possessively to him, regarding the hole in the floor.

All he could see were so many tiny shards of frozen toad scattered all over the ground. Lydon gave a violent shiver and then clutched her tightly, rocking her gently back and forward. He wasn't supposed to hurt her. How could he have forgotten what would have happened if he'd killed her again? The apothecary stroked her gently, slowly calming her down and mending her wounds. He shouldn't have hurt her. He shouldn't have risked everything. Stupid. Stupid.

**---------------------------------**

Theramore Ballroom  
(Continued from last Ballroom scene)

"You know my father, Daelin Proudmoore." The entire table was standing to greet the most powerful figure in the Alliance. The Admiral in question held out a hand, and received a warm shake in return; Jaina went on to introduce the other persons present. Fordragon, however, ceased to listen. His eyes had roved first to Kael'Thas, and then to the green-skinned creature standing nearby. Eyes met and locked, and the only thing Fordragon heard was, "And of course, Thrall, son of Durotan. You might know him as the Warchief of the New Horde."

He was most certainly not expecting the orc to nod his head in a slight, polite bow of respect, or to extend a green hand in greeting.

**---------------------------------**

Theramore Outside of the Ballroom  
(Continued)

Kael stared over the tower edge. The balcony below him was illuminated, and he could easily make out Jaina's violet and white clad form as she gazed up at the star filled sky. He smiled softly at her straw-colored hair blowing softly in the wind, her dress dancing softly in the breeze. He smiled lightly, leaning against the tower rim and resting his arms upon its cool stone blocks.

A second figure moved out onto the balcony and Kael stiffened, watching as the orc moved up beside the sorceress and looked heavenwards at the stars with her. As much as Kael was willing to form a truce with the Horde, he still was uncomfortable with the amount of time Jaina spent with the green skin leader. He'd felt a very real twist of jealousy and revulsion in his gut when the orc had offered his arm to Jaina and guided her out to the dance floor. Even the manner in which the entire ballroom gaped at them, and the knowledge that the dance was a political move, hadn't dulled the ache that the elf prince had felt.

"You, my lady," Thrall's words floated up to where Kael'Thas was. The air was calm that night, and no wind dulled the noble accent of the green-skin's voice. "Are a fiend. A devious, manipulative fiend."

Jaina laughed, turning her head to smile at him for a moment. "Ah, but my deviousness might have just solved our problems. Bolvar was most noticeably impressed by you, and I am sure he will be open to talks of peace."

"You could have at least told me he would be there."

"I could have, but then you would not have stood on an even playing field. It was good for you to be just as uncomfortable as he was." She smiled and looked back up at the sky.

"Do you stargaze often?" the orc asked after awhile.

"Yes. It puts everything in perspective."

"Oh?"

She nodded. "We are so very small- just a tiny part of all that is out there. And our differences, and our conflicts, are in truth so very small and petty."

"The Alliance and the Horde's?"

She gave another affirmative nod and turned her head to look at him. "We're not so very different. You certainly prove that."

"Indeed? And how are we similar?"

The sorceress grinned and turned toward him, taking his hand in her own and gently running her fingers over it. "Well, let's see. Five digits, four with three joints and one opposable thumb with two joints… Nails, soft tissue under the nails, wrinkled skin on the knuckles… Indeed, by all accounts, this appears to be a hand. Aside from calluses and obvious scaling and pigmentation differences, it is no different from my own." Thrall had a sort of dashing smile that served as everything from a battle grin to a smirk of amusement. He might have won Azeroth's best orc smile, if there were such an award, but then that might have been simply because he was well informed on matters of dental hygiene. He gave such a smile then.

"Ah, but what about Trolls and Tauran? Are they different because they lack five fingers?"

Jaina merely laughed lightly and released his hand. "We are all members of ambivalent races with equal potential for good and evil. As a general rule, we smile upon honor, justice and a certain code of conduct. We all desire relative peace with enough strife to keep us entertained, and we all desire a place to call home." The Warchief of the Orcish Horde tilted his head to the side, his smirk fading into a solemn, thoughtful expression. "So no, we're not that different."

"And the stars have led you to realize all this?"

"Well, they've been a good help."

"I shall remember to consult them more often."

Kael'Thas tilted his head to the side slowly, observing the two intently. He was a bit disgusted by how Jaina willingly touched the green skin. He thought no less of Lady Proudmoore herself, but it was difficult for him to understand how she could be so tolerant. The elf supposed it was just part of what made her so very perfect.

"Thrall? I've a question."

"What else do wizards have?"

"Sorceress, my friend, sorceress!"

"And what is the difference?"

"If you are a "Sorcerer," it is often implied that you have some sort of inborn magical power, and do not have to draw entirely from outside sources." He blinked, looking at her in surprise, and once again marking the strange color of her eyes. Arthas… The Lich King had said that Jaina's eye color symbolized the taint of some great power within her. "Anyway, back to my question: Remember when I brought my father and Kael'Thas to come speak with you about an alliance between the Horde and the Bloodelves? Why did you look so disapprovingly at Kael?"

Thrall blinked, looking in surprise at the diminutive sorceress, and Kael looked on with intrigue. The Warchief hesitated for a long moment, before looking out over the moon-lit ocean. "… He reminds me of Grom." Kael's upper lip curled in detest, but Jaina understood immediately

"You must remember that Hellscream died saving your people from demonic corruption."

"He was also one of the warchieftains who first condemned us to it," the orc retorted, a bit more forcefully then he intended. "You heard him, Jaina! He and the other chiefs partook of the blood of Mannoroth to strengthen their warriors! They did that to my people… their people… _willingly_!"

Seeing that Thrall was on the verge of becoming extremely upset and emotional, Jaina firmly gripped both of the orc leader's forearms. Due to her small stature, it wasn't very practical to grab him by the shoulders. "Thrall, you mustn't judge Kael'Thas so harshly. He did what he thought was best for his people-"

"I am certain that Ner'zhul and Arthas both did what they thought was best for their people!" Jaina recoiled, releasing him, as if slapped. The orc's blue eyes widened slightly as he realized what he had said, and he looked down, ashamed, at the floor of the stone balcony. "… I am sorry," he said very, very humbly, before lifting his eyes slowly, meekly to hers. "… But Jaina… the green in the eyes of his people is the same as the red in the eyes of mine. One cannot work in such concert with darkness without being tainted by it. He condemned his people the same way Grom did-"

"He was trying to save his people, Thrall," she countered, once again coming up to the orc and replacing her hands on his arms. "Rejected by the Alliance, looked down upon by the Night Elves, without a home, most of their family and friends slaughtered, and with a deep and all consuming need for magic; Kael did not sell out his people for power. He joined with the only faction that would help him, and when they offered a way to ease the starvation for magical energies, he took it. I don't mean to dishonor Grom, but Kael's intentions have been relatively good."

She perceived that the orc was calming down, and she smiled slightly, moving her hands to his, the green appendages so much larger then her own. The surface area of just Thrall's palm was almost as large as her entire hand. "That's why you're so willing to welcome the BloodElves into the New Horde, isn't it? One must learn from the past to avoid the same mistakes in the future. You are hoping that if Kael does not have to rely purely on Illidan, but instead can look to the New Horde for aid, you might be able to keep what happened to Grom from happening again. In fact, you almost feel responsible for ensuring that the Blood Elves make it, don't you? To ensure that there need be no more martyrs?"

Dark blue eyes looked up from a shadowed green face, each filled with an expression Jaina could only label as 'haunted'. For that moment, all the world seemed to go still and quiet, as she recognized the emotions he conveyed through that simple gaze. She saw in him the same helplessness, worry, and haunting that she herself had felt when her father had died.

"Oh Thrall…"

Without ever thinking, she moved forward to comfort her ally and friend, lifting her arms and wrapping them around his armored waist. Similar instincts made him clutch her tightly in return, and long before anyone but Kael had a rational thought going through their head (And most of his rational thoughts weren't all that rational, and involved stabbing), the orc had knelt in order to become shorter than her, and his face was pressed into the little sorceress's shoulder. The Lady Proudmoore was completely wrapped in his embrace; one of her arms was around his neck, and the other was wrapped around his back.

Kael jerked backwards as if the cool stone of the tower had burned him, his green eyes wide, watching as Jaina suddenly embraced the orc and he immediately embraced her in return. By the Sunwell, _NO!_ No, no, no, no, no, no, No, NO, NO! It was impossible, he could _not_ be seeing this! And yet the scene unfolded before him, each new frame even more horrible then the last. _His_ keen eyes saw the fingertips that combed through the orc's black hair! When even the two of them seemed oblivious, _he_ saw how the orc buried his tearstained face into her shoulder, seeking comfort- how his arms tightened needingly, affectionately around her!

By all that was holy and unholy,_ NO_! How could no one else see this? How could _they_ not realize it? And how could she do this to _him_! How could she show that… that monster such affection and trust when he received nothing more then a peck upon the cheek!

An orc! A filthy, barbaric, monstrous, demonically-

Was that it? Was it because of what Kael had done? His hands clenched in horrible mental anguish, his three fiery green orbs vanishing, and he tried with all his might to hate himself, to hate her for abandoning him and hating him, but he could not. She had done nothing but defend his choices and support him. She might have treated him a tad childishly, and may have confided in him less than an orc, but it seemed she confided less in her father than said orc. No. Lack of intimacy towards him on her part had nothing to do with Kael's demonic powers.

His mind was going three thousand times faster then it should have been and he whirled, rushing back into the tower and down the stairs, tearing down into its depths until he found an armory, and he was alone in the dark.

Why? Why! Why an orc? What had Kael done to deserve- It occurred to him that perhaps she saw something in Thrall, and that it had never had anything to do with himself. But that was ludicrous! What could she possibly see in an animalistic monster?

Half memories and half realizations flooded into his conscious, making him shake with rage and pain and loss. Stories of how the orcs and humans had stood together at Mount Hyjal. Of how the Horde had immediately rushed to Theramore's aid and the Warchief had immediately set out to rescue the Lady Proudmoore. He remembered that Thrall had been the one to save Jaina- the stories were very specific on that, yet it was a detail no one appeared to pay any attention to. How he had given her that Frostwolf, and how she went back and forward from Orgrimmar to Theramore. It was rumored that she was seen more often spreading peace on the streets of Orgrimmar then she ever spent on the roads of her own city.

Kael clutched his stomach, suddenly feeling ill as he paced frantically back and forward, his green eyes wild, hair disheveled. It couldn't be, it was impossible, no, no, _no_- but by gods, he'd _seen_ it! He'd seen how she'd comforted that… that BEAST, and his eyes had not deceived him, he'd SEEN it!

It was just a hug!

Damn to the Twisting Nether whatever fool thought that was just a hug! Damn to the Twisting Nether Jaina's blind father, and mindless servants, and damn them all! Damn them, DAMN THEM! Those fools, those stupid, stupid fools, they could not see this abominable infatuation unfolding under their very eyes! How many countless days had she spent in Orgrimmar? How many secret days had he spent in Theramore?

Illidan's words about her being a whore rose unbidden to his mind, but he banished them back with a verbal scream of hate. Damn Illidan and his snake-tongue! He was as bad as Vashj- the Naga symbolized him perfectly!

Somehow that made it worse. A thousand times worse, because she was everything she claimed to be. She was pure like snow, as strong and regal as any queen, as fair and beautiful as any elf, and by all that was holy, he _loved_ her. Loved her more now then he ever did, because he knew, just from the way she had hugged that green monster, that everything between them was chaste friendship- knew by her hesitance after a few moments that she had never before comforted any male in such a fashion save Arthas- knew just by the slight blush in her cheeks and the familiarity with which she treated the orc that even in all the time she had spent with Arthas, the two had never been lovers.

She was perfection incarnate, and she would never love him. Worse, he was lower in her eyes than an orc.

Kael shook violently and had to grab at a wall to steady himself as he retched violently all over the floor and then collapsed. He wrapped his arms around himself and he wept, rocking back and forward, because he had loved her with all his heart, and there had never once been any hope.

"My heart does not belong to anyone at the moment. Or if it does, it still hasn't let me know, and so I am unaware of it."

She'd never once lied to him. She loved Thrall, heir to Orgrim Doomhammer, son of Durotan, Warchief of the Orcish Horde, and he, Kael'thas Sunstrider, was the only one in all the world who had any idea.

**--------------------------------- **

(Out on the Balcony)

_That smell…_

_Oiled leather… Sweat…Blood…_

Jaina's eyes widened as memories came back to her. Of being cold inside and out, numb and alone… And of that scent… A single point of warmth and life in all her world of ice.

"_Miss Jaina!"_

_Warmth_

"_Jaina, look at me!"_

_Above her materialized a frozen, crystalline blade, descending downward…_

Her arms tightened reflexively, her fingers digging in to neutral colored armor and her cheek pressing into warm black hair. Oiled leather… Sweat…Blood… A wolfish smell of battle… The sense of smell is the most powerful human sense- stronger than sight, sound, taste, and touch. From birth, a child recognizes its mother by scent.

"… … Miss Proudmoore, I-"

"First off, my name is Jaina. Second off, just shut up and accept the hug."

Well, there wasn't anyone else there to see him crying into the shoulder of a small human mage; his embrace tightened.

**---------------------------------**

Caer Darrow  
(The Same Time as the Balcony Scene)

Nathanos laid Ketala down with utmost care upon the cool ground of Caer Darrow, making sure not to cause her any further discomfort. Tirion set her armor and weapons down beside the unconscious paladin, and then looked quietly at Nathanos for a moment.

"You said this happened to her because you left her side. Can you be sure that she will be alright while we fight in Scholomance?"

"We do not have many other choices, unless you want to go into Scholomance alone." Nathanos shrugged. "Besides, I can be close to her mentally from any distance, and she's currently unconscious, what-"

Right then, when Nathanos realized he had the impulse to say "What could possible happen?" he knew that something of monumental importance concerning Ketala would occur while he was gone. His mouth closed and he paused, blinking. After a moment, he sighed and looked down at Ketala, and then craned over her and gently laid a hand tenderly upon her forehead.

"Stay safe," he murmured softly to her, and he kissed her cheek.

Murphy's law: Everything that can go wrong will go wrong. There was no reason to stand in Murphy's way; there wasn't really anything he could do to stop the inevitable anyway. Nathanos stood up, dusted himself off, and looked around for the human paladin. He slapped his own forehead when he saw Tirion conversing with some ghosts about burning remains and setting spirits free. He might as well have Ketala with him. It was going to be a long, long day.

**---------------------------------  
**(Same Time)

He was bored. Huddling in the fetal position had eventually lost its charm. Now he had nothing more to do then gaze down at his burnt and disfigured flesh, begrudge his lack of teeth, and slowly come to the realization that if he fell out of a bed, he probably would not be able to climb back up on his own. He still had his wrists and ankles, so theoretically he could try and stand or drag himself up, but without hooves or fingers, he really never stood a chance. It was horribly degrading to be so entirely helpless. Ketala had brought him along to Caer Darrow with a large contingent of undead in order to guard the entrance, but for what purpose she would desire the Dreadlord's presence, Varimathras had no idea. Still, he could not complain- it got him farther away from that damnable cathedral she was building behind Andorhal.

But oh he was bored. Ketala, Nathanos, and that thrice damned Tirion Fordring had gone into Scholomance earlier that day, and he had nothing to do but stare at himself and loathe his helplessness.

And then it began to rain. The vampyric demon snarled out a stream of curses, as his shelter was little more then a lean-to with a view of Scholomance's entrance, and he was getting wet. By the time several hours had passed he was bored, wet, miserable, and helpless, but the rain had slacked off just enough for an unconscious Ketala to be brought into the center of camp. Being the coward that he was, Varimathras pulled a blanket over his head so the paladin wouldn't see him. Best not to be bored, wet, miserable, helpless, and sporting hammer and blade wounds- or worse. Sometimes paladins had a moment of truly divinely inspired insight, and instead would give a lengthy and horrifying monologue about redemption and turning from one's dark ways to embrace the light. _That_ was the _worst_. Judging by how tolerant this paladin was, he might just sit down and do the latter. Poor Varimathras didn't have many more limbs to gnaw off in order to thwart monologue induced insanity.

Instead, Varimathras just watched the two argue for a moment, with Nathanos cussing out the paladin for agreeing to help some ghosts, and continued watching while they left, heading back down into Scholomance. The Dreadlord considered it poetic revenge on the Ranger Lord that he would have to clear a pocket of demon infestation with a human paladin.

**---------------------------------**

The Eastern Plaguelands  
(Indeterminable Time)

"_Ride_! _RIDE_!" Evron's old carriage horse might have been lame, sickly, and carrying two passengers, but it still had enough vim and vigor within it to run towards Quel'Thalas's border, neighing bloody murder, as a giant abomination lumbered after it. Evron's grandson, Ron, clung tightly to him, eyes wide with terror. The two of them had never made it to Light's Hope Chapel, nestled as it was among so many Plagueland horrors. Instead they were miserably lost in a desolate, undead infested landscape. The supplies that the old blind man had brought had quickly dwindled out, but the infrequent rains had served to supply them with water, and smaller carrion grubs had provided enough food for them to live on.

All of their supplies would amount to nothing, however, if this monstrosity caught them. Evron could not see and did not know his way around the Eastern Plaguelands, but Ron insisted he saw green ahead, and so Evron urged their horse towards it, relying on the terrified child's description of the landscape to avoid obstacles. It _had_ to be Quel'Thalas. What other place would still be green and alive? And if it was Quel'Thalas, perhaps someone had survived there… perhaps they could find some sanctuary…

There was never any real hope. Evron knew it and the horse knew it, but that knowledge never once slowed the hoof strides of the lame animal, nor halted the frantic prayers of the old man. The horse never stopped running, Evron never stopped praying, and Ron never stopped quaking, even as they all felt a rush of wind blow by them, even as they heard the sounds of metal on flesh, even as the abomination lagged far behind. They never stopped until they were safe within a field of tall, lush grass. At that point, the horse determined that all was well and good in the world, halted, and began to dine.

Evron heard the soft crisping sound of grass under his mount's hooves, and the grinding of fresh, green stalks in its old teeth. He quivered and began shaking, his white-knuckled hands still gripping the reigns. When voices called out in greeting and question, all he could do was bow his hand, tears of relief coming down his cheeks.

They were safe.

Ron looked curiously at the priestess who was gently tending his scrapes. He'd gotten quite scuffed in his Grandpa's race to mount up old Fireplume (Whom was in his declining years affectionately called Grumbles) and get away from that horrible abomination. His Grandfather was currently asleep down the hall in a nice, fresh bed, recuperating from the strain of wandering around in the Plaguelands for a lengthy period of time.

Evron had collapsed from exhaustion soon after they had reached the Argent Dawn outpost in Quel'Thalas, and two paladins had supported the frail man to a room to rest. The priestess tending Ron was visibly bursting with questions about why a blind man and a small boy were out in the Plaguelands alone, but she refrained from asking them out of respect for the trauma that Ron might possibly be feeling. She was currently giving a rambling, comforting speech that consisted primarily of various rendition of the phrase "It is going to be alright."

"Do you know Leonid?"

The priestess blinked, pausing mid speech, and looked directly at the small boy. She was deeply surprised by the lack of terror in the child's eyes. Rather then being traumatized, this child was gazing at her intensely and hopefully, as if she might have the information he sought.

"Leonid?"

"Yes, he is an undead, and with the Argent Dawn, and he's a paladin, kinda like my grandpa, but more like my mom-"

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Bartholomew?"

"He was at the Chapel. Light's Hope Chapel? Is that what it's called? Me and Grandpa were trying to get there to find him. We came from Grandpa's home in Tyr's Hand. Leonid took care of me once!"

The rush of strange information overwhelmed the priestess, and all she could manage was, "Oh, but you just missed him… He just left this morning for-"

The boy jumped up, startling her, a wild look in his large expressive eyes. "NO! No, no! Where did he go? I've got to find him!"

"Wait- boy-!" she grabbed for the small child's arm, but he dunked under her grip, sprinting for the door to the Argent Dawn complex. It wasn't fair. Why was it that he couldn't get to see Leonid? They'd come all this way, made it so far, just for him to leave? It wasn't fair! It wasn't fair! Where could he have gone? Back to the Chapel? No! No, they'd never find the Chapel! They tried already, and they couldn't do it, and oh he was never going to see him again!

The small boy took a sharp turn out of the complex's exist, and ran directly into plated legs. He gasped as he realized his mistake, and tried to pull away, but plated hands grabbed his arms, holding him in place, no matter how much he twisted, or screamed, or cried. At last he looked up in rage at the one who held him, teeth grin and eyes half blinded with tears. His angry gaze fell upon a benevolent face with white skin and golden, glowing eyes.

"Ron?" The boy froze, staring, eyes wide.

"Oh! Leonid, you are back from border patrol so soon? I'm sorry about the child, he-"

"Abominations," he said rather mechanically, staring at the small boy. "Coming from the Northeast. A party of ten will be needed to take them without casualties. What is this boy doing here?"

"I'm sorry about that Leonid. He just showed up today out of the blue with an old blind man on a lame horse. They were being chased by an abomination. We quickly put the monster down, and the old man is resting." Leonid's eyes shot up to her, no expression discernable in their golden depths.

"An old man?"

"Yes, it was really quite the oddity-"

Without another word, Leonid knelt and scooped up the young boy and headed back into the temple. He walked down through a hall, reached a newly occupied room, pushed open its door, and strode inside. He spent somewhere between fifteen minutes and a half an hour staring down at the haggard, sleeping countenance of his blind father, and the next three hours quietly lulling Ron to sleep.

**---------------------------------**

Indeterminable Place  
(Indeterminable Time)

And Mahi Smiled.

---------------------------------

Remember, if you didn't read it above, **I'm writing a new story.** Scroll up to the top to read my summary of what's got to happen in this story, my reasons for writing a new story, and the **new story's summary.**

Woot! Now click the Review Button and go look at my art! BWAHAHAH! Review or I shall not Update! (Or at least that's what I tell myself) **YARG!**

Sniffle! I love you all!


	42. Works In Mysterious Ways

Voice: "AHH LEEEEEEEVVVE (translation: I live)" A zombie/mummy/abominable creature slowly rises out of the dust of a coffin. It stands up, shakes itself off, rips off a few bandages, and reveals itself to be!!!!

The Author!

Author: "You didn't think I could do it, did you? You thought it was dead when it stopped updating past september! All of you! I DEFIED ALL OF YOU, BWAHAHAHAHH! Go for the eyes Boo! Go for the eyes BWAHAHAHAHAHAHH! COUGH-ehrm-erm... uhm... what was I doing? Oh yes.

In any event, Look! An update! And hopefully there will one day be more of those! I'm really sorry guys, I got tied up with all this work, and applying for things and doing this and doing that, and well, I just ran out of time! I haven't even been able to work on that DnD horror campaign I wanted to get a head start on! I haven't played World of Warcraft in Six months! Noooooo! BUT I UPDATE! And I shall continue to do so! Have no fear- I have no intention of falling off the world any time soon!

In other news... **  
New Art: **I did an oil pastel of Thrall cheering up Jaina! Yay! That means its in color too! Yay! Also, Arallion sent me this beautiful pick of how she pictures Ketala. I have both of these on my website, which is displayed in my profile (You can't put hyperlinks in a story) Go check them out, I think you'll like them! Also, if you happen to be at the Deviant Art website, check out Arallion's profile there. She has a lovely little peice under "Sketches" with Thrall braiding Jaina's hair, and the work she did for her own fanfictions is simply exquisite.

Oh yes, give a big hand to Arallion for editing, making comments and suggestions on, and pestering me about this chapter!

Hope you like! Love you all!

* * *

**__**

**_The Light Works in Mysterious Ways. Even Demons Are Used._**

* * *

Caer Darrow, the Eastern Plaguelands  
(Some time after Nathanos brought Ketala to the surface)

Well… _shit_. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. As if the day could get any worse. It had rained. There had been paladins. Ketala was helpless and unconscious. And now Naxxramas had decided to float along on its merry way straight towards Andorhal.

Naxxramas was the flying necropolis of Kel'Thuzad. Ner'zhul had unearthed an entire ziggurat from the ground and had sent it up into the air. The floating fortress had been Kel'Thuzad's vessel and home for quite some time. The perverted magical experiments that went on inside its halls far outstripped the anything done within Scholomance's terrible depths. Now Varimathras was as pro-evil-magic as the next demon, but there was one element of this situation that even he was opposed to: The floating towards Andorhal part.

Although Ketala would be happy to know that her adoptive parent was alive and kicking, she might not be so happy if Naxxramas began attacking Andorhal or- better yet, if Kel'Thuzad were to notice that his beloved daughter was nearby and sparsely guarded. _Shit!_

Varimathras grunted with the effort of pulling himself up to his palms and knees. Great. Now what was he supposed to do? If Ketala were to be captured, the Dreadlord would merely be killed by the Lich King or Nathanos- whoever found him first. He would have survived all that trauma and torture just to be traumatized and tortured again. The future looked bright and cheery.

The demon swore (again), crawling shakily out of his lean-to shelter. Briefly he grimaced at what his brothers would think of him if they were to see him in such a state- fumbling around in the dirt on his hands and knees, so undignified. The Dreadlord glanced worriedly to the northeast. The airborne ziggurat looming ominously on the horizon was far too massive and imposing to be anything other than Naxxramas.

Varimathras snarled and redoubling his pace towards Ketala's prone body. Undead were entrenched around her, and they hissed vehemently at his approach. He ignored them, looking around at the various resources at his disposal. There had to be something, some means in this camp by which he might wake Ketala, or…

A curl of paper caught his eye. There was a scroll among Ketala's possessions. For a moment, the demon simply stared at the neatly wrapped white vellum. Then he shuffled up to it. It took a long minute and a half for him to figure out a way to unravel the scroll in his fingerless state, but it was well worth the effort. It was a teleportation scroll. With luck, he could use it to get Ketala out of Kel'Thuzad's sight.

The demon's eyes narrowed, a frown spreading over his face. This scroll was irregular. It teemed with powerful energies and magic, and was far more detailed and complex then any teleportation scroll he had ever seen. It also allowed for the user to teleport to only one location: Theramore Isle. Which was better than Caer Darrow. Varimathras hesitated only a second before pulling the scroll over to Ketala and laying it upon her person. He spoke the words to activate the magic within the leaf of paper.

In a few moments, Ketala Truae was gone. He could only hope that Kel'Thuzad had not previously detected her… and that Nathanos didn't kill him when he returned.

* * *

Theramore  
(The Same Time)

Any time Jaina could get her father to overlook his personal prejudices against orcs, she savored it. When Thrall had initiated a conversation about naval warfare with the Admiral, she'd been thrilled. Miss Proudmoore had left the two to talk with one another, and had gone ahead to her rooms in order to change into something a little less formal. What with most of the guests retiring to their quarters for the night, it was time for some honest discussion. Jaina had countless plans on how to deal with the upcoming negotiations, and she wanted to convey them to her allies. That, and she really wanted her father to see the noble spirit within her best friend.

Jaina opened the door to her private quarters and then suddenly paused. For a moment she merely stood still in the doorway. Then she stepped fully into the main room and looked around curiously, brows drawn… Something was wrong. She could sense it the moment she stepped into her room. The silence was a bit deafening. Puzzled, the sorceress stepped into her room and swiftly grabbed her staff, sorceress energies whirling around her. Her home seemed normal- everything in its proper place (i.e., scattered all over the ground and all other available surfaces), but she could not escape the sense that something was most certainly _wrong_.

The Lady Proudmoore frowned, taking a step toward her summoning and teleportation chamber. The door to the chamber was open. Odd. The door should be closed, Jaina distinctly remembered…

Immediatly the hair on the back of the sorceress's neck stood on end. She shuddered as a cold chill washed over her. Every last one of her senses suddenly filled with numb dread; the emptiness building up into a wrenching, silence crescendo around her. She saw Ketala's profile ahead of her, a stark white and yellow figure lying limp and pale, cold and unresponsive.

_RUN._

Every instinct suddenly gasped it out faintly, desperately.

_RUN. _

She whirled around in mindless terror, only to come face-to-face with an ethereal figure of charcoal and mist, slowly filling out with sickly colors… a dirty whirlwind of corpse-like yellows, blues, and grays. Two piercing, blue-green eyes lifted to hers, bloodless lips murmuring a single word: "_Jaina._"

* * *

(Cont.)

The terrified shriek echoing through Jaina's tower sent Thrall instantly into motion, as if he had been tense and ready for just such a scream. By the time the despondent Kael or stunned Admiral had even registered the sound, the orc had a fifty-yard lead on them.

The last time Thrall had heard that shriek, Jaina had been abducted by Ner'zhul. Perhaps he recalled, all too clearly, arriving too late to save her. Or mayhap the spirits of Theramore isle had whispered to him of the sorceress's plight. Whatever the reason, the warchief instinctively knew his ally and friend was in danger, and had thrown open the doors of her room long before he had any chance to ponder his actions- let alone consider propriety or politeness. At the sight of Jaina Proudmoore shrinking helpless to the ground, her arms raised in vain protest against the approaching ghost, he was glad had followed the impulse.

Jaina's shriek had jolted Kael from his sulking. The ensuing roar caused him to all-out sprint, and he reached Jaina's room shortly after Thrall. For a moment he could only stare as the orc thrashed vainly at the intangible spectre. The blood elf shivered once, and then his eyes narrowed and energy began to gather around his hands. Ironically, Kael did not have much magic at his disposal. Rather then siphoning magic from nearby sources, Kael had been relying entirely on meditation techniques to replenish his energies. He did not have much to hit Arthas with. Thrall was not faring better. Upon finding that he was incapable of hitting the ghost, the orc quickly changed tactics and seized Jaina, trying to pull her away form the ethereal tendrils that held her.

The spirit seemed unconcerned. It gave a wicked smile, kneeling down before Jaina and reaching over to gently stroke her hair. Her eyes were wide with terror, focused entirely on the ghost, and her mind never registered the enraged orc who suddenly interposed himself between them. Again, Thrall's efforts were in vain. The spirit of Arthas merely chuckled mutely and passed straight through the greenskin, pulling Jaina to her feet. Kael's magical blows were equally ineffectual, and they glanced off the lich's ethereal armor with nary a scratch. Without impediment the Lich King stood closer to the sorceress, until his intangible body touched hers, and he held her against him and gently began to rub her arms and shoulders so very tenderly.

"JAINA!" Thrall was on his feet and yet he was entirely helpless- a rare event. "Jaina, pull back!"

Kael's mind raced his heart seizing up in agony and horror. Sunwell, no! There was nothing he could do! Even though he could hit this spectre, he had not the power to affect it! By the twisting nether, he could do nothing! _Nothing!_ The blood elf shuddered and took in a deep breath in an effort to calm himself. He needed power! There had to be some means, some way to help-

He sensed Ember's horrid, wonderful well of demonic energy.

"**I have all faith in you, Kael."**

"**That's all you'll ever be to her- a monster."**

"**You shouldn't judge him so harshly, Thrall."**

_I will never be Illidan…_

His eyes focused, watching as Jaina screamed. The sorceress was pulling backwards and staggering away from the Spectre. Her eyes were blank, vacant.

So cold, so numb. Alone and forsaken, frozen and loveless.

And yet… That smell… That warmth… Her eyes opened even wider.

_I remember_.

"Thrall!" she screamed, bolting towards the one warm point in all her world. She crashed into a wall of muscle and armor. Warm, protective arms that closed around her, shielding her from the cold.

The blood elf prince noted painfully that Jaina never once saw him. She had turned directly towards Kael, away from Arthas and Thrall, and had never even noticed him. His heart clenched in agony, arcane energy streaking forth from his hands.

"Banish!"

Instantly Thrall was as ethereal as the spectre. The orc jumped in surprise, and then snarled as the ghost of Arthas solidified in his vision. A word of power triggered the spell to encase Thrall in Orgrim Doomhammer's old armor. A second word brought the great warhammer itself into Thrall's hands. A second spell sent Jaina into the ethereal realm so that the she was easier to protect. Thrall grunted, pulling the terrified human tightly against him and then freeing one arm to heft the Doomhammer.

Thrall's next blow struck home.

The Admiral Daelin Proudmoore arrived on the scene to see his daughter clinging wide-eyed to the chest of an orc, both of whom were ethereal. The orc was fighting off a spectral monster that looked vaguely familiar, and a crazy blood elf was pouring out magic into the scene.

Needless to say, he was ready to kill someone, and was a bit miffed when Thrall decided he was apparently more useful as an errand boy.

"Admiral! Get a priest! Get an _armada_ of priests!" the warchief shouted, blocking a strike of Arthas's runeblade.

"But-"

"ADMIRAL PROUDMOORE!" Kael reaffirmed. "Please, we can take care of Jaina, but we need a priest!"

Daelin Proudmoore didn't exactly enjoy leaving his daughter under the protection of an orc and an elf devoted to the demonic arts, but he hadn't been left much choice. He turned and bolted out of the room, doing as he was bid.

"_By the spirits of the earth, and by my ancestors…"_ the orc grunted, energy building up around him, his eyes flaming and his hammer moving defensively around the tiny sorceress. _"YOU WILL NOT HAVE HER!"_

Sure it was a little cliché, but the romantic irony paralleling Thrall with a true paladin was not lost on Kael. Tears fell down the broken elf's cheeks as he squeezed more magic out of his pathetic soul. Each gush of power that coursed from his fingers was agony, and yet each was a bittersweet comfort; a horrible emptiness and yet a strange and captivating whole. He poured forth all his sanity, all his affection, all his surviving altruism, all his will into the casting. He poured it all until nothing was left but a silent, empty shell.

Kael fed energy into the spell, ensuring that it would last long enough for Thrall to drive back the Lich King. Then he lowered his head weakly and stared down at his hands.

That was all that really mattered, wasn't it? That he somehow save her... Even in letting go...

* * *

(Cont.)

Her world spun horribly; so many conflicting emotions spiraling and wrapping around her. An innate need for comfort. Desperate not to be left alone… with the nightmares… The spectre of Arthas was beaten backwards. The ghost did not have Arthas' full strength, and so it was easy prey to Thrall's warhammer. It took very little time for the spectre to disperse all together.

"Miss Jaina… There, there… It's all right… It's okay… it's okay…"

"Don't leave me. Please don't ever leave me!"

"Miss Jaina-"

"Please, please, it's so cold!" She _was_ cold. A moment's hesitation, and then she was being picked up. She gave a cry of shock, lashing out and then latching reflexively onto the great orc as he carried her across the room.

"It's okay… It's okay…"

"Don't leave me!"

"I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere," he promised her. "I'm going to set you on your feet. I'm not going anywhere." He did so, and she whimpered, but made no other protest. A moment of rummaging, and then he was pulling a comforter over her shoulders and gently rubbing her back. "Is that better?"

"A little," she squeaked unhappily.

"Are you alright?" he asked gently, setting down his warhammer. Immediately he began roughly chafting her arms and back, trying to warm her up. He paused as he saw her face, her eyes finally focused and brimming with tears, her mouth quivering in misery.

He went still and took in a slow, deep breath, as he was uncertain of what to say or do. She sniffled and trembled. Then, with a soft sound, she leaned into him, wrapping her arms tightly around her torso.

The orc recalled being on the balcony. Had he and Jaina really stood there and embraced only hours ago? Time flies when you're bashing undead spirits. Gently, hesitantly, he moved his arms around her small form and held her protectively.

"I remember everything," she murmured. "I remember fighting you. I remember - he-" she shuddered, choking.

"…Hush… It's over now. It's okay…" He gave her a gentle squeeze.

"I remember Stonetalon."

"Jain-" He froze. Thrall recalled _exactly_ what had happened in Stonetalon. He remembered the discarded dragon scale armor, offering her his cape, smiling as she begged him not to leave her alone…

He remembered that she had said…. She'd…She'd…l-

There was a clamor as the Admiral began to return with an armada of priests and paladins in tow. The little sorceress in his arms seized up, her eyes widening.

"No-no-no-no! I don't want to talk to them, I don't want to talk to them- no, please, no, not now, please just let me rest, please, please - Ah!"

The small human gasped as Thrall picked her up and looped her legs over one of his broad arms. Without hesitation he carried her from her main chambers into her sleeping quarters, and gently set her down upon her bed. Immediately she clung to him, sobbing weakly and unhappily into his chest. The orc Warchief shifted, uncomfortable with how improper his situation was becoming. True, he was Jaina's best friend… and he indeed wanted to comfort her… But now was not the time for such things… It wasn't his place. Thrall was vaguely aware of Kael's presence outside of Jaina's sleeping quarters. The elf was trying to calm Daelin down, and explain that the sorceress needed a moment alone…

"I'm… I… I'm so sorry for being so clingy." Thrall blinked at the little human and smiled, roughly rubbing her back in a circular motion.

"There is nothing to be ashamed of. I am simply glad we did not lose you again." She flinched, and he reflexively held her a bit tighter to assure her that she was no burden.

Allies? Friends? How the hell were they supposed to act? What was proper? What was appropriate?

"You saved me at Icecrown, too," she murmured

"It was the least an ally could do," he responded.

"You never gave up hope. Even when I was fighting you…"

"It was the least a friend could do."

She closed her eyes tightly. "You gave me your cape." Thrall winced, having hoped that the conversation would not return to Stonetalon, and the sorceress smirked weakly. "Was that the least that a gentleman could do?"

He blinked and then smiled. "Are you feeling a bit better?" Jaina's smirk altered, slowly forming into a smile.

"… Are you avoiding the subject?"

"… Jaina…"

She looked up at him, her eyes framing many unspoken questions.

He shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat. "You should rest and relax. I shall make sure no one bothers you, and that Arthas's spectre does not come near you," he announced, standing and gently detaching her. Immediately her eyes widened and she clutched at his arms.

"… Please, don't leave me," she said in a surprised rush. The poor orc paused and lifted his blue eyes to hers. Jaina bit her lip- she understood she was being childish- but her eyes never stopped pleading.

"… Jaina… I…. I hardly think anyone will find it proper for me to remain in your sleeping quarters for any extended length of time- and most certainly not while embracing you."

She blushed, pulling her arms guiltily back to her and clutching them against her chest. Thrall winced slightly at how vulnerable the strong little sorceress looked, but what could he do? It was… just… not his place…

"… I feel so pathetic," she whispered hoarsely after a moment. "So frail… So helpless. Worthless." She lowered her head. A large hand, rough but gentle, was set upon her shoulder.

"… No, Miss Proudmoore. You are one of the strongest people I know."

"Then why do I always end up a crying mess at your doorstep?" The orc blinked, never having made such a connection. He supposed that she was correct, in the most literal of interpretations; still, it was not something that made him think lowly of her.

"Lady Proudmoore, when the rest of our people were content to let peace dissolve into war, you sought out the help of an orc warchieftain. That is more then anyone else did."

"Only because they could not see-"

"Then your strength is in being able to see when others cannot. Being able to see the unblemished truth." After a moment, she lifted her eyes to his. "And being willing to act on it. Strength- despite what the average orc might believe- is not the refusal to cry." He tilted her chin up with a gentle touch.

"… Even crying into the arms of a human?"

The orc blinked and grinned at her retort. "I am not ashamed. I needed that."

She was silent a moment, and then she looked at the ground again. "… I could do nothing against Arthas."

The orc hesitated. He had very little information on that area because he had never asked her about it. It seemed too personal, too painful. "You shook off his spell in time to save _my _life. That in itself was a great deal. No one blames you for what the Lich King did to you. After all, Kel'Thuzad almost claimed Ketala." He smiled gently. She did not smile in return.

"It's not the same." She closed her eyes "I cannot help thinking that if I had not left in following the prophet, I might have been able to save him."

"It's true… You might have been able…" Jaina looked up at him, eyes widening, but he merely smiled and patted her back. "But then I'd be dead and this world would belong to the Burning Legion. Do not lament the past, Jaina, especially when you have done such great things for your future."

"I loved him, Thrall," she murmured, tears dripping down from her yellow lashes.

He was silent a moment, contemplating the sheer spiritual degradation necessary to leech a loved on of all life, spirit, and hope. Then, slowly, he moved a comforting arm around her. "I know, Jaina…" For a long moment, he remained there in silence, trying to think of what he could possibly do…

"Do you need someone to confide in…?"

It was what Jaina needed to hear. The one phrase, the one suggestion that could somehow make the situation turn out alright. She told him everything, through the tears, and the pain, and the loss. He listened, gently holding one of her hands, letting her pour out her soul. He listened as she told the story, from start to conclusion. It began a long time ago, in a different world, where the princess of Kul'Tiras was in love with the prince of Lordaeron. It ended with Jaina's memory of how Arthas had controlled her, not so very long ago, in Northrend. And when she had finished, he offered a comforting shoulder to cry upon. She moved quickly, wrapping her arms around his waist, and she smothered herself into his warm black plate. He stiffened, surprised.

"Please don't leave me. Don't leave- not like he did, not like everyone else does." Her breath had quickened and her grip had tightened. He could easily see that she was becoming frantic, and that she was still very much distressed b what had happened. Sighing, he at last complied with his instincts, wrapping her in a hug and gently rocking her back and forth..

_Safe._ Her senses reveled in the comforting feeling. _Safe._ Thick, powerfully muscled arms were wrapped all around her. And she could hear a powerful heartbeat, steady and sure, so deep in tone that she felt rather then heard its repetitive movement. Repetitive and lulling, perhaps, but in a different manner. A manner of trust, and dependence, and admiration. She could smell the well-oiled leather; she could feel that powerful heartbeat against her cheek and temple and throat. His arms shifted to accommodate her, muscles moving gracefully under green skin. Now she felt soft breath at her back and shoulder and cheek, warm flesh against her own. An odd sensation of new facial hair gently prickling against her cheek. She found it strange; to notice such- a tiny detail, yet bizarrely, it was so important. So warm…So safe. _Safe._

Only when Thrall felt that the tiny sorceress had been lulled to sleep did he dare to move. He carefully shifted forward, guiding her down to her warm blankets. Blushing an olive-brown color, he pulled the covers back and looped her legs into the bed, pulling the blankets over and around her. She shifted slightly, but did not wake, nestling further into her pillows. She was so… erm… well an orc couldn't rightly think of something as _'cute'_… but she was so small and doll-like while she slept. It was no wonder that the Admiral was inclined to still think of her as a child. On impulse, he lowered his head and brushed gold fibers from her brow, gently touching his tusked lips to her forehead. The moment was stolen, a tiny piece of time that had no place or mooring in the general flow of events. There was no regret or embarrassment accompanying the action. He smiled as she stirred faintly, a secure smile upon her face, and he stroked her hair as gently as he could.

"Sleep well, Miss Proudmoore. No nightmares tonight," he murmured, and then carefully stood and headed for the door.

* * *

(At the Same Time)

Kael grimaced. Thrall had carried Jaina to her room many minutes ago, and had not yet returned. He was comforting the poor sorceress, as Kael should have been. The blood elf closed his eyes for a moment, and took in a deep breath. Jaina's safety and soundness of mind were what mattered. He would not expose Thrall's proximity to the sorceress over his own discontent.

The priests were having little luck in trying to contain Arthas's spectre, but they were successfully keeping it away from Jaina's room. It had not yet re-manifested, but it was drifting around Jaina's chambers, sending spikes of necromantic energy at any priest that dared to draw too near. And then there was Daelin to keep occupied… The blood elf prince reached out and grabbed the undead man's shoulder.

The Admiral looked at him and grunted. "What is it?"

"I am concerned as to why there is a spectre of the lich king within these walls. This apparition should not be here, and I want to know why it is. Perhaps knowing will help us get rid of it."

"What do you expect me to do? I'm no mage."

"Yes, but you know Jaina well. Can you think of any means by which an undead might have gotten into this room?" Daelin was about to snarl back a sarcastic reply, but he paused abruptly.

"… That room, to the side over there… She uses it to contain her spells and for teleporting on occasion… I think," he said, gesturing uncertainly with a hand. Kael blinked and nodded, turning and swiftly moving up to the room. After a moment, the Admiral tentatively followed.

Kael'Thas found a summoning room there, just as he had suspected. In all honestly, he shouldn't have required Daelin to notice the room. The blood elf supposed that his mental conflict about Thrall and Jaina had dulled his senses. The summoning room was a grand affair. It teemed with magical energies and protective wards. For a moment, Kael'Thas had to steady himself and resist the temptation to siphon away all the magic within the chamber.

Upon the ground lay an undead female. She appeared to have been laid out with great care, and her face was blank and expressionless. The woman was clothed in yellow and gold. Her skin was milk-white, and her hair was black to the point of being blue. She looked strangely serene. Perhaps this was due to the fact that she sported no signs of decay. By the time Daelin had reached the chamber, Kael'Thas was already examining the girl, trying to determine the connection between her and the spectre of Arthas.

The undead girl was by no means tall or imposing. Kael would have towered over her if she had been standing and conscious. Still there was something…

"… I've seen this undead before," Daelin observed as he stepped into the summoning room, his brows furrowing as he looked down at the woman. "… She was the leader of one of the undead legions, if I remember straight." Kael blinked up at the Admiral and then eyed the girl more closely. Ah… Then this had to be Ketala, Zul'vii's friend. But then what was she doing in Theramore? A teleportation scroll, perhaps? But then why was the girl both unconscious and so carefully arranged?

"If she is Ketala Truae," the blood elf reasoned, "then she can be healed. Get some of those priests in here, perhaps we can revive her." Daelin hesitated and then nodded. Kael grunted and looked down at the undead girl, and then a puzzled expression crossed his face. Kael'Thas Sunstrider was a bloodelf. With the destruction of the Sunwell, he had become a predatory creature, feasting off magic like a felhound. And now he could taste it – _power_ – flooding up to him in its purest and sweetest form. Slowly, hesitantly, he lowered a hand and gently laid his palm upon her shoulder…

Raw elemental energy exploded from within her, coursing up into him. He gasped, green eyes opening wide. His fingers dug into the girl's arm, his whole body arching with pleasure as the overwhelming streams of magic flowed through him. Not evil. Not demonically tainted… Just… power… pure power. Not even refined enough to be called magic. Just _power_.

What had Zul'vii called her? A half elemental! _By the Sunwell!_ The taste was ambrosia, so poignant and raw. It was nothing at all like the taste of Ember's power. Hers was an ocean of temptation and overwhelming magnetism. This, in contrast, was an explosion of fierce primal energy. It hailed from the center of the world, from a time greater than time, from a well deeper than any magical pool or any demonic infestation. It was… the perfect source...

Ketala jerked and her whole body convulsed. There was a moment of quiet as all her senses gathered together once more, and then her eyes opened wide.

Kael gasped as the undead girl suddenly threw him off. His back hit the wall of the summoning chamber with a painful thud, and he shuddered, twitching lightly as if he had been electrocuted. His eyes focused on Ketala almost immediately. His green eyes were predatory. For a moment, he was little more then a starving addict. Then, slowly, his senses began to return, and he took in a deep breath.

"Ketala Truae, I presume?"

Ketala looked around in curiosity and surprise at her surroundings. After a couple moments she remembered the incident in Scholomance, but that did not explain why she was suddenly in some sort of weird magic chamber. Had the cultists captured her? She turned her head and looked at the elf who had been feeding off of her with a strange mixture of emotions.

"Where am I?" she queried.

"Jaina Proudmoore's magic sanctum," the elf responded evenly. "We were wondering if you could tell us why there is an apparition of the Lich King running around." Ketala blinked, and then her eyes widened. Snarling, she clawed her way to her feet and stalked towards the exit to the chamber. Kael raised an eyebrow and stood slowly, watching her fight her way to the entrance. Ketala's eyes began to whirl, furiously changing shades and colors as she approached the door. _That evil, evil, dirty, vile-!_ She pushed her way through the door and saw the spirit pushing through the defenses of a score of priests, making his way towards Jaina Proudmoore's quarters with a frightening intensity.

"LEAVE HER ALONE, YOU MISERABLE, FILTHY BASTARD!"

The subsequent bombing of holy light left a large hole in Jaina's ceiling. It was also probably the first time anyone had ever heard Ketala swear. The sudden addition of dirty words to her vocabulary was probably due to being thoroughly dazed beyond all sane comprehension.

In any event, when Ketala dropped unconscious to the floor, the fragment of Arthas's spirit was entrapped in Ketala's mind once more. It was one of the few times that the paladin was thankful she had the spirit within her- at least there it could do no harm to her friends.

* * *

(Cont.)

And Jaina slept.

* * *

Theramore  
(The Next Day)

Thrall knocked very politely on Lady Jaina's door and waited patiently for her to answer. It took her a short while, but the door eventually opened. Then the little sorceress was there, immediately smiling upon seeing the greenskin.

"Good morning! I trust you slept well?" she asked, ushering him in. Thrall blinked and nodded as she closed the door behind him. She was unusually cheery for someone who had just been through a traumatic experience.

"I did. And you?"

"Passably." He turned his gaze to look directly at her. She merely smiled in response, heading over to her mini kitchenette set up. "Tea?"

"Tea would be lovely," he answered quietly.

"Milk or sugar?"

"Neither, thank you." The little sorceress nodded again and finished pouring two cups of the warm liquid. She brought his tea to him, and the two leaders sipped their drinks in silence, unsure of what they should say.

"Are humans ugly to orcs?" she asked on impulse, after a moment of curious pondering. Thrall blinked and lifted a brow, looking at her inquisitively. "I'd always wondered, since humans find orcs…" she paused for a moment, as she did not desire to be offensive. "… to not be… visually appealing."

A corner of the Warchief's mouth quirked up as he regarded her. "Do _you_ find orcs visually appealing, my lady?" Jaina blinked, taken aback. For a moment she considered asking him, "What kind of question is that?" but she knew it would not end the debate. Instead, she considered her answer, regarding the Warchief for a moment. Then, suddenly, she grinned smugly and began walking around him, observing him like an art critic might scope out a sculpture. He held still, watching her with evident amusement.

"Hmmm. Hmmmmmm. Hmm-hmm-hmm-hmm-hmm. Well!" She stopped in front of him. "You are green, muscle-bound, porcine-" she tapped one of his tusks, "primitive and brutish-looking, loud, stinky, and hairy," and at the last word she tapped his chin.

"I said "visually"!" he grumbled, a smile plastered wide over his face. Jaina merely laughed.

"I do not find you ugly."

"Really?" he asked with a flourish, his curiosity piqued and his mood sarcastic and jovial. "After all that?"

"How we see people is often a matter of our respect for them."

"Then you shall be happy to hear that I respect you, considering you're a naked monkey with a huge nose, a squashed little mouth, hair like straw, an entirely unimpressive and inpractical physique, and the pigmentation of a cave fish."

"I see." The tone of her voice was solemn, but she was fighting back the impulse to laugh, and her eyes were wide in surprise. It was one thing to assume that you were ugly, and entirely different thing to hear yourself related to a monkey and a cave fish. "I shall be very happy to hear that, indeed."

Thrall grinned. He took another sip of his tea and looked around the sorceress's quarters. They had been… 'tidied' up since the incident the day before… If anything of Jaina's could be considered 'tidy'. "Have you recovered from yesterday?"

"Yes. I'm fine. And Ketala should be up and fighting again soon."

"Good."

Silence. The two just sipped their tea.

"…Thrall…?" He looked directly at her and the two were silent for another one of those long… awkward… moments…

"Yes, Miss Proudmoore?" he prompted gently. She clenched her jaw for a moment and then looked at the ground, uncertain of how to phrase what she deeply wanted to ask.

Her mouth got impatient with the wait, however, and decided to ask for her.

"Do you like me?" _Oh, sure, how eloquent. Like that could have come out any more pathetic._

Thrall went stiff and did not reply or move for a third of those especially long moments. At last he set down his tea and quickly approached her, stopping but half a foot away. She did not move, or breathe, or think, letting him carefully take her hands in his own. For a long time, he merely ran his thumbs gently over her palms and fingers. It was a small, easy to miss action, but it spoke endless volumes to the troubled sorceress.

"Does it matter?" he asked at long length.

"Why would it not?"

"Even if I did, what would it mean? Nothing can ever come of it."

"What if I liked you in return?" He went very still again, tensing up as if bracing against a wave of some kind. Then, slowly, he lifted his blue eyes to hers.

"No good would come of it. A political scandal, claims of treason-"

"Does it matter?" He blinked and she slowly wrapped her hands around the sides of his, her cyan eyes never leaving his blue ones. He was impossible to read, his eyes and expression thoughtful but grim. Her grip on his hands tightened, sorrowful tears brimming and falling down her cheeks.

"Miss Proudmoore-"

"Jaina," she corrected him quietly. He fell silent and regarded her a long moment.

"Jaina, you have worked so hard fighting for peace. All you have sacrificed for, all you have fought for will be in vain if Stormwind senses any reason to doubt your motives."

"They already doubt my motives! They know of my connection to you, they try to frame me for treason-"

"Why give them fuel for their fires?" She shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. Thrall gritted his teeth against the sight. How could something so delicate be so strong? Jaina truly was a bizarre mix.

"Please…" she murmured weakly. It was all she could manage. She already felt like a helpless, desperate weakling. He'd never even admitted he liked her, and she had already spilled her guts. Such a fool. Such a stupid fool.

"… Jaina, why? What do you see in me powerful enough to make you cry?" A hand touched her cheek, tenderly brushing, in all its coarseness, over her jaw. She scoffed and looked down.

"It seems many things are powerful enough to make me cry lately."

"Jaina, you must give yourself more credit. Even I would have strayed from this path of peace if it were not for your strength." She lifted her cyan eyes to his. "What do you mean?"

Thrall paused, eyeing her a long moment. He could not help but note the strong and stubborn shape of her ridiculously tiny mouth. She was _slouching_, and her shoulders still retained the composure and strength of a noble warrior. Even her eyes, which were so filled with sorrow, were powerful and sharp, like the eyes of a bird or feline. Jaina Proudmoore had successfully orchestrated the first peaceful, diplomatic meeting between a leader of Stormwind and the leader of Orgrimmar. It was she who had forged the ceasefire between Stormwind and the Undercity. Jaina had been the one responsible for Ketala's success in her turning of Kel'Thuzad's undead lines. She had kept peace between the Night Elves and the orcs and the humans. She had done so much, so very much. She was a vital and powerful figure head, a strong beacon of hope and resilience against darkness…

"I could not have kept this alliance together. Countless times I have had doubts. My people have surged against me, _begging_ for the right to bring war to the humans. Countless times I have contemplated giving in to their demands." He smiled lightly. "It is because of you, Lady Proudmoore, that I have not done so. You have been the beacon; the unrelenting proof that loyalty and honor can be found within in the human race. "Honoring our alliance, despite your father, was one of the most selfless things I have ever witnessed. Your unwillingness to let this alliance die has led us this far. You are one of the only humans an orc has ever been able to call a friend. _You_ came to _me_ for advice to restrain the military activities of your own race. You've spread hopes for peace and prosperity among my people _and_ yours. _You_ are the focal point that refuses to let this all collapse around our ears, and yet you _dare_ to question your own strength of character? You dare to sit here and pity yourself? You dare to feel worthless, to underestimate your own value to such an extreme? If _you_ were not Jaina Proudmoore, I would accuse you of slandering her name." Jaina flinched, shrinking down from him, and so he quickly caught her chin and tilted her head so that she was looking into her eyes.

"If there is one thing- anything at all- that I do _not_ admire about you, Jaina Proudmoore… it is that you suddenly think so very poorly of yourself. You attack yourself, pity yourself… That is not the strong woman I know. I understand that these recent incidents with Arthas are the cause of your sudden self-doubt and loss of self-confidence, but this is not like you at all. What's wrong? You did not even act like this when your father died. Why are you suddenly so ashamed, so unhappy?"

Her answer took a moment of thought, and when she realized the cause, she was astounded. "I'm… afraid…" she murmured softly.

"Of what?" he asked incredulously.

"…Of what you think of me."

He laughed and shook his head. "Then you're creating a self-fulfilling prophecy. You are treating yourself so badly is because you believe I am thinking lowly of you. The only reason I could think lowly of you would be because you are treating yourself so badly. Miss Proudmoore, I could not think more highly of you. Why are you so afraid of that?"

"I'm afraid of losing you."

Thrall son of Durotan went very still and very quiet, just observing the tiny sorceress. For the first time since this topic had begun, he saw strength within her gaze. No fear, no confusion or self-pity or internal pain. For the first time, she looked entirely certain.

"… Thrall…" She lifted a hand and gently touched his cheek.

He would look better unkempt with a scruffy beard and two tribal braids. It surprised her and made her smile. She truly thought he looked perfectly fine as his orcish self. Arthas had been a warrior: noble, strong, and passionate. Kael had been a scholar. Thrall was both.

Jaina smelled like old tomes. It was an old sweet smell of dust, paper, and ink. The faint aroma of lilacs hung around her like a subtle veil. Her mind functioned like a moustrap She was cunning and passionate. Despite all her lack of stature and strength, she was a fighter, as noble and determined as any orcish warrior. Despite her tears, despite her recent weakness, Thrall could see her heart was composed of nothing more than valor and will. She took to the battlefield in times of need, even though she had never been taught to wield a weapon. True, he had saved her twice from the Lich King… But then she had saved him from himself at the battle at Mount Hyjal.

Yes. Thrall most certainly liked Jaina Proudmoore. But it would not work… He knew that… And his conclusion was visible in her eyes. So Jaina tried the last card she held.

"I love you."

By the spirits, that almost broke him. He could feel a huge chunk of his certainties collapse beneath him, and the grounds for his actions became shaky.

But that was all Jaina had left- her one and only trump card. In his mind's eye, he saw Taretha Foxton's severed head lying in front of him on the ground, her blonde tresses stained with blood and gore. For a moment, he was ready to pull back, to turn away. He was ready to remember that they were two leaders on the opposite side of a war, and that any attraction between them probably stemmed from the fact that both he and Jaina had lost loved ones that they were trying to replace. He was ready to remember that Tari had been executed for treason. That Blackmoore had killed her for befriending and aiding Thrall himself.

Jaina stood on her toes, jerked his head down, and kissed him full on the mouth. The warchieftain's blue eyes went wide and he grabbed her shoulders reflexively. He shuddered as one of her hands latched into his mane of hair, and the other wrapped around his broad back. Then he stared in amazement as his own arms betrayed him and slipped around her shoulders, around her slender torso, and held her tightly against him.

All right. So perhaps that had _not_ been her only trump card.

It would never work. But for a moment- just one moment- perhaps they could pretend.

He closed his eyes and returned her kiss, his arms tightening around the tiny sorceress.

It was a tad awkward. For one, orcs had much larger and more pronounced jaws then humans, and they had tusks to complicate the matter. Jaina was also quite small, and so he shifted his weight and then hoisted her off the ground, holding her tightly to him. She tasted like peppermint. The scent of lilacs and old parchment permeated her beautiful golden hair. So soft… so fragile… Yet so strong, so fiery, so brave.

Jaina made herself a promise that the next time she encountered Arthas, she would defeat him. Never again would she feel so helpless, so pitiful, or so unworthy.

* * *

Tarren Mill  
(Does the time really matter?)

Apothecary Lydon finished cleaning up his lab after some time. It took a bit longer then normal, as he was distracted from the chore by the need to hurl several alchemical grenades at random objects (the mess of which he would obviously have to clean). Once he was done throwing his tantrums and tidying up his humble little home, he returned to the corner in which he had left Umpi.

The toad-turned-undead-female was still huddling in mute terror in her little corner, her legs drawn up against her chin and her eyes wide. She really did resemble Toad-Umpi when she did that. The apothecary smiled, straightening and pushing some of his own violet hair out of his face. Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad. After all, she would make a lovely test subject for some of his experiments. But then she was now a much larger and more conspicuous target. If Brill was raided by the Syndicate again, she might not survive. She'd be noticed, and she'd be attacked… And he had to think about what was best for her.

After a moment of indecision, Lydon knelt and gently seized Humanoid-Umpi under the arms and pulled her to her feet. She jerked and made a sound of protest, and then just stared up at him, wide-eyed. As a toad she had never been required to stand upright, and so her legs tended to drag on the ground in a confused mess. Lydon grumbled and straightened her out, and then held her steady as she slowly developed a sense of balance and coordination.

There were possibilities here. It was a standard mage ability to be able to turn a person into a sheep, but the spell was far from permanent, and no one had ever turned a sheep into a person before. This could be used to breach the gap between man and animal! His creature-to-human potion had thousands of applications for medical research! No longer would it be necessary to capture humans- a simple fish or insect would do!

Or Lydon could throw a fit. Yes… yes… a fit would do nicely. The Apothecary's clenched, his blade-like fingers tightening painfully into Humanoid-Umpi's arms. She gave a cry and sank to her knees, struggling to get away. Lydon grunted, looking down at her. Umpi's surface area had risen considerably, meaning he could do many more horrible and dastardly things to her without risking killing her. A slow and evil smiled worked itself over the apothecary's face. Umpi knew that smile. Despite the fact that a toad's short term memory was only several minutes long, she had memorized that evil smile through years and years of toadly experience. She shrank away from him, eyes wide in horror. The apothecary paused, regarding her with curiosity. Then quite suddenly he purred, looking down at her with bizarre and unwholesome affection. After a moment of thought, he released her arms and turned, stepping out of his house, and shut the door behind him.

He returned several minutes later with suppliesOnly to find that Umpi was no longer there. This confused Lydon. There were spells upon the undead's home that kept Umpi from utilizing the door or windows. This ensured that she would not accidentally escape. The apothecary snorted and then cast a spell to cause Umpi to glow.

Still no Umpi- humanoid or otherwise. Lydon pursed his decaying lips and placed his hands upon his hips, trying to figure out any possible cause for the Umpi-absence. After a minute of thinking, two minutes of rapt mathematical calculations, and three minutes of wondering whether or not a cat could be made into an internal combustion engine, he finally noticed the fact that his house was entirely layered in at least an inch of soot. Umpi had gone up the chimney.

* * *

Intermission

(Monty Python Intermission Music plays As was played during the "Crossing the Bridge of Death over the Gorge of Eternal Peril" scene (which was, odly enough, at the end of the movie).) What? I can't have an intermission? Thinks have to happen at intermittant times, don't you know?! There is sleeping, and bathing, and eating, and snoring, and training sessions, and old grumpy admirals complaining about impropriaty that none of us should really have to know about! Unless you want to hear about how Grom Hellscream was an excellent nose-picker to boot...Yes, you guessed it, it's really late at night.

* * *

I would Yarg at you, but I haven't updated for four months, and its really late at night, heheh. Go look at the new art on my webpage, and review! Review darn you, its what I live for! Pester me! I didn't get this chapter out until finally someone yelled at me for not writing! 

Boo: Chitter

What do you **MEAN** I got one of the highest review counts from my last chapter! You posted them, didn't you! DIDNT YOU? DIE, MINATURE GIANT SPACE HAMSTER OF DOOM! DIE DIE DIE DIE- Erm... Hello Minsc... No, I am not whacking your hamster with a shoe. Please put down the sword. Please.


	43. Well That Sucks

Hey everyone! I'm back! I have good news, and then I have bad news. Since I said "Good news" first and "Bad news" second, I'll tell you the bad news first and the good news second. The bad news is that this is the Second-to-last chapter in MahiMahi! That's it! Only one more chapter, and maybe an epilogue, and then its over! In addition, this chapter is mind bogglingly evil! EVIL I SAY! The Good news is that I will start the sequel "Truae" as soon as I'm done, heheh! I'm still working on two additional fanfictions. One is "Buuka and Revon", which I described earlier, and the other is a Starcraft fanfiction. I'm not certain if either fanfiction will go gold, considering how uninspired I've been to write fanfiction lately, but I'm working on them!

I liked this chapter, but I haven't proofread it and I didn't have a beta, because I was far too impatient to upload it (on a Sunday of all days! Who reads fanfiction on a _sunday_!) I might get a beta and replace this chapter with a grammatically correct version. Until then, I have more art on my webpage. Nothing much, just a silly little comic and a corner of a big painting I did symbolizing Ketala's elemental heritage. Oh, and a pic of Varimathras. He looks so weird bald that I don't know what to think of the picture. Sadly, I have all this art for my Starcraft fanfiction, and For the Sequel to this fanfiction, Truae, but I can't upload any of it without ruining so many surprizes! Noooo!

As for everyone who's missing Zul'vii, she isn't actually going to be seen for the rest of this fanfiction! Gasp! But fortunatly, that's only one chapter, and she'll pop immediatly back up in the sequel. She's a very important character, but you see I need to get everything set up in a manner that resembles how things are set up in the Burning Crusade. You must remember that I'm keeping tabs with the actual Canon storyline (I started this fanfic before World of Warcraft was ever even released!) And Illy can't exactly be where Illy's got to be if he has his angelic companion around keeping him from going totally off his rocker, heheh!

Oh I've so many ideas, and I want to share them all with you! Head ready to explode! Okay, before I divulge any more secrets, lets get on with the story!

* * *

**_Well... That sucks._**

* * *

Caer Darrow  
(Some time after the incident with Arthas's ghost)

Surprisingly, Ketala did not take that long to recover.

"Let go of me! I'll kill him! I'll rip him to shreds, the damnable, putrescent BASTARD!"

A ranger, a paladin, and a demon were all in the center of Ketala's camp. The demon was horribly maimed (he lacked hooves, wings, horns, teeth, and claws), and was currently scrambling for cover. Ketala noticed with some amusement that the _paladin _was holding _Nathanos_ back. The ranger was unarmed. He was squirming and clawing furiously to free himself from Tirion's grasp.

"Now ranger, I'm certain there is a less violent way of handling this situation! I shall not allow you to slaughter a helpless prisoner for your own-"

"YOU GODDAMN PALADINS ARE USELESS FOR EVERYTHING!" The one thing you can ever be relied upon to do is hate demons, and the one time you need to, you can't even do that right!"

The ranger lord screamed in frustration and whirled, bringing his elbow into Tirion's face and momentarily causing the paladin to let go. Nathanos's hood was down, his hair wild and hanging in front of his face. His brown eyes were filled with a predatory fury, his teeth were grit, and his gray cheeks were flushed with hate and anger. He spun around in an attempt to locate Varimathras, and then paused, his eyes flicking to Ketala Truae instead. His eyes narrowed.

"… … I hate you."

Ketala smiled.

"Glad to see you missed me."

He snorted, a frown twisting his face into a distorted grimace. "You misinterpret my ire. I was just trying to kill him before you returned." The undead paladin merely smiled further, and moved towards her companion till she was only a foot away from him.

"I see. So instead of giving into blind rage, you gave into entirely pointless rage?"

"…"

"And is there any particular reason you're standing just slightly askew, as if you'd been riding a horse for three days straight?"

A scowl blackened his visage, his eyes narrowing and his cheeks darkening with frustration. Both of his hands clenched, his nails digging bloodless grooves into his palms.

"Hmm, now that I think about it, why are you unarmed? Did Tirion best you in martial combat? My goodness, that would be a-"

He tackled her, his hands grabbing for her neck to strangle her and snap her vertebrae in two. The two went rolling, both scrambling for control of the grapple. Tirion grunted. His nose had been broken, and he spent a moment to heal it before he watched the two undead wrestle like feral wolves.

"And for that matter, how is it that I managed to hallucinate that entire episode before you managed to get to me? Were you avoiding me or something?"

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP!"

Nathanos was in the middle of trying to rip out Ketala's hair when Tirion suddenly grabbed the two by their collars and tried to separate them. Both yelped in surprise as they were hoisted off the ground and held midair.

It occurred to them for the first time that they were small compared to all of the other heroes on Azeroth, and were therefore midair-hoistable. Fortunately, a sense of helplessness assaulted neither of them. Nathanos merely grabbed Tirion's arm and contorted, delivering a kick straight to the paladin's jaw.

Tirion's head snapped back and he grunted, dropping both undead to the ground. Two things happened simultaneously: Nathanos launched himself at the paladin, and Ketala seized the ranger's legs and tripped him. The poor ranger lord landed flat on his face. Within a second, he was up on his feet again, but Ketala had already grabbed him around the chest, and was bodily restraining him from causing Tirion further damage.

Tirion grunted and spit out a tooth. He lifted a hand to rub his chin, and watched Ketala and Nathanos with an air of total bafflement. The ranger was taking gouges out of Ketala's arms with his fingers, stomping down upon her feet, and jerking about madly, and still she refused to let go.

"I'll kill him; I'll gouge his eyes out and feed them to my spiders with bits of his intestines and liver!"

"Oh, calm down you silly, melodramatic person. You're overusing your villainous dialogue."

"_I'm_ melodramatic?"

Ketala just laughed and kissed his temple and cheek and jaw, and rubbed her own temple against his hair. He gave a shriek of frustration and then sighed, half closing his eyes and begrudgingly accepting the affection. Then he slowly slumped into her hold, a bitter expression on his face. Ketala smiled.

"Calm?"

"As I'll ever be," he growled. She smiled and shook her head.

"You're going to attack someone as soon as I let go, aren't you?"

"I hate you."

"I know." She pulled him up to his feet and released him. Immediately he turned around, bringing his elbow into her chest and wrapping the toe of his boot around one of her feet. She was off balance without her normal heavy armor holding her in place, and she tripped, falling back over a gravestone and landing on her head with a thud. "Ow!" Nathanos grinned and then simply walked past Tirion. The older paladin just lifted a silvered brow and stared at the two in bewilderment.

Ketala grunted and scrambled to her feet. She stood and brushed herself off, and then shrugged helplessly at Tirion. "It's good to see you're both well," she said after a moment, and she came up to the human and rested a hand on his shoulder.

"And you as well. You gave us quite the scare," the paladin replied, focusing on the girl.

"Both of you? Oh, I shall tease him about that later," she said with a sly grin in Nathanos's direction.

"You both behave in a bizarrely childish manner."

"Yes. Such is one way to show affection. Especially for a person who isn't very good at receiving or showing love." She smiled up at Tirion and then looked fondly over at the ranger. Nathanos was harassing Varimathras, but otherwise remaining innocuous.

"I know that expression on your face… You should be careful. I am sure you have heard this warning a thousand times, but death has twisted him beyond all soundness and sanity. Please hear me out: You are mortal. You can be killed, you can be betrayed, and this world is not perfect. The harder you try to save him, the more you will be hurt."

"How can you be so certain?"

"All women are like you. They have a maternal instinct that drives them to seek out and care for the depressed and the destroyed. Or, I should say, _most_ women. They have an overwhelming drive to save things. To change things. To heal things. They believe that they alone have the ability, the will, and the strength of character in order to make some miscreant "better"." Ketala blinked and looked up at him. "It is a fight that cannot be won. No matter what you do, he will always be broken. He will always be dark. He will never change. People have to not only want help, but actively seek it in order to change. He will drain from you, and rely on you, and draw everything out of you. In the end, you'll just be unhappy, frustrated, and bonded to a homicidal mad-man. _Especially_ because you are stronger than him in spirit."

"He loves me. I love him."

Tirion hesitated on saying his next words. They were damning words, terrible words, and they were words he himself could hardly believe. Still, seeing this young female undead, so filled with life and light, he could hardly stand idle. So he spoke. "Those are the two most powerful chains in the world." He looked over at Nathanos; the ranger was still tormenting the demon. "You have forced upon him all of the changes he went through. He did nothing himself. There were no obstacles for him. There were no trials, no quests, there was no search for a greater purpose or understanding. You have given him a place, but you can never give him morals or values. You can never give him willpower."

Ketala looked away and closed her eyes for a moment. Then, suddenly, she smiled and gazed up at Tirion.

"I know."

He blinked. "You know?" She nodded.

"I know. I've chosen this path willingly, knowing all its defects. I'm not afraid. I'm his match, not his mother. I will fight him for every last piece of ground."

He lifted a brow.

"Perhaps that explains why we fight so much. I attack with my optimism, and he combats with his hate. It is an unending war, and we both know it for what it is. I do my best not to delude myself. For every drop of my strength he drains, for every pain he causes, I pay him back two-fold. The relationship is imperfect, somewhat unhealthy, and occasionally mentally harrowing… but it is what I need. It is what he needs. It works better than anything else ever could. So we do our best, let it run its course, and work with what we have." She looked back at Nathanos. "Now, let's see if I can get him to stop tormenting poor Varimiathras…"

* * *

_In retrospect, I suppose I should have warned them. Or, at least, warned Ketala. When they walked down into Scholomance, they strode blindly into great danger. But I am a demon. Nathanos's fit of rage left me bitter, angry, and desiring revenge. Perhaps I thought of this entire situation as paying him back for what he has done to me. I was so far beyond foolish that the whole situation has caused me to repeatedly question my own intelligence. Perhaps I was being manipulated by the Lich King, or Kel'Thuzad, or some outside force? The Twisting Nether only knows, I'm not exactly oozing willpower at the moment. Maybe I simply didn't believe that Ketala and Nathanos could be defeated. After all, they have defied far worse odds before. In my blindness, I did not take into account the greatest and most prevalent aspect of Ketala's character: her compassion._

_In retrospect, I should have warned Ketala. The consequences for my childish anger were far too great._

_There is one thing you must remember, or nothing that follows will make sense: Ketala's prime mission in life was to save the spirit of those she cared for. Ketala loved Nathanos more than anything in the entire world; that is true. What no one remembered or took into account was that Ketala loved Kel'Thuzad only a mite less. Kel'Thuzad was not her soul mate. There was no spiritual bond decided upon by the fates that linked them together. _

_But Kel'Thuzad was her parent. She had chosen him from the moment he first picked her up and cradled her, and that bond, that filial adoration, was stronger than anyone took into account. In our foolishness, we assumed the bond was one-sided… We saw that Kel'Thuzad's nostalgic affection for Ketala kept him fighting for her. We did not understand that it also kept Ketala fighting for him. From the moment the lich first released her, Ketala was concerned with freeing her adoptive parent. That goal was a cornerstone of her life. And when Kel'Thuzad could no longer summon the strength to free her, she did not abandon him.  
_

* * *

Scholomance  
(Some time later)_  
_

"I can't reach him," Ketala observed. "His mind is shielded from me."

Nathanos smiled, peering around the corner and gazing into Ras Frostwhisper's throne room. That's exactly what he'd hoped Ketala would say. Now that he knew how powerful she could become when truly enraged, he was eager to pit her against every monster he could. Maybe, if he got lucky, she'd hallucinate again and he'd get to see her rip Frostwhisper asunder. "Well then, we shall simply have to attack him, now wont we?"

"Like Jandice, and Kiritonis, and-"

"Look, you got the befuddled necromancer in the floral pajamas. What more do you want?"

"You make good points. …You didn't kill him while I was gone, did you?"

Nathanos thought about the question "Mmm, define 'kill'."

"…Naatttthhhyyyyy…" she growled dangerously.

"What? He was annoying me."

Someone beside them coughed.

"Nathanos, if you laid one finger on that poor old man…"

The Ranger Lord grinned. "You'll what? Throw sunflowers at me? Maybe I gutted him, and ripped his entrails out, and strangled him with his colon, and-"

"Excuse me-" butted in that nearby someone.

"What on Azeroth is the _matter_ with you! Why do you always feel this overwhelming need keep me feeling uncertain about everything, especially in the state I'm in-"

"Oh wah, wah, wah, I'm suffering hallucinations and I wish you'd stop picking on me," Nathanos mimicked in a shrill tone.

"You know what, I bet you ignored the fact that I was hallucinating on purpose just so that you could cause me more suffering-"

"EXCUSE ME!" exclaimed a voice beside them.

"_WHAT_?" both of them exclaimed in unison as they whirled around to face the speaker. The lich, Ras Frostwhisper, had been attracted by their bickering and had floated over to them a few minutes ago. He had been attempting to gain their attention throughout the entire argument. Both glared at him as if he were interrupting something important.

The lich would have lifted a brow if he could, and for a brief moment he was struck with genuine amusement at the entire situation. The two were glaring at him like rebellious children. What's more, they were both ridiculously short, and had been arguing loudly in the middle of a horrible and hostile dungeon. He could not see the female well, but the male was most certainly a forsaken, and had the look of a veteran warrior. The whole situation was laughable.

"I was in the middle of a very delicate magical experiment when you two trounced your way into my home and began arguing like small children. If you are quite finished and have found your way back to your underdeveloped senses, can we possibly get back onto a rational course of action, and, perhaps, battle? Both invaders were silent a moment.

"… Damn you!" Nathanos snapped at the lich. "What did you have to go and say that for? What is the MATTER with you?"

Ras floated back an inch in surprise. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Gah! Stop talking! It might not be too late!"

Ketala grinned. "Oh come on Nathanos, when's the last time you've heard a polite undead-"

"NOOOOOOO!" the ranger lord shrieked in dismay, and he brutally charged into the lich, beginning the battle before Ketala could convince herself she wanted to somehow save Ras Frostwhisper from damnation.

The lich blinked, firing frost at the two invaders and backing up into his "throne room". He had several minions in his room, and immediately called them forward. This battle would be ridiculously easy. Two invaders against himself and his finest students? His opponents never stood a chance.

For a moment, he merely watched as the male undead flailed around. The male was a fine fighter- a Blademaster to be sure, but he took a few blows for his efforts. Ice had the lovely side effect of slowing down Frostwhisper's opponents.

Then, summoned skeletons suddenly started turning against their masters. The male was a necromancer. No problem, Ras simply destroyed the undead with a few blows of frost. Almost immediately, several spiders dashed into the room and began attacking and poisoning his minions. Again, no problem. Ras simply inspired them with overwhelming fear, and send them shrieking around in random Chaos. And then the female joined the battle.

The lich chuckled as he watched the two delve into his minions and begins ripping his students apart. At least if the two presented some sort of resistance, the battle wouldn't be entirely boring. Despite common misconceptions, undead actually could get bored. His constant vigilance over Scholomance was at times a tedious and boring affair. Cold energy pooled around him as he once more summoned magic through his body. Icy tendrils of necromantic energy shot forward, whirling towards the combatants. He was not prepared for the divine shield that sprung into being and deflected his frost bolt without effort. At that moment, the lich was in desperate need of an eyebrow to lift.

Ketala grunted, shoving her back into Nathanos's in order to keep from being separated from him. Tirion was some distance behind them. As Ketala and Nathanos were the stealthiest of the three combatants (despite Ketala's full plate), the two of them had gone some distance ahead of Tirion for scouting purposes. This stealthy scouting was, of course, moot when the scouts began arguing in loud, high-pitched voices about whether or not it was allowable to kill old men in floral pajamas. In any event, Tirion was some distance behind them, and they would not be able to count on his aid for a good minute or so. They were on their own.

"Nathanos, if you did anything to that poor old man, I will dye your hair pink and have your blades transfigured into pom-poms!"

"I'll gut Lachdan!"

"NATHANOS!" She shoved backwards, driving her elbow hard into her companion's spinal cord. He grunted and staggered for a moment. A shadow bolt crashed into his chest and he was barely able to deflect several staff blows. Once he had recovered he burst out laughing.

"And then I'll track down that priest Gydrion you love so much, and while I'm at it, I'll go on a raid of Stormwind butchering every child in sight!"

"You-I-GAH!"

"Ever so articulate!" He cried with glee, and he wrapped a leg around hers and tripped her, sending her sprawling into the battle. She gave an exclamation of frustration and rolled over, fighting off her opponents even from this prone position.

"When we get through with this, I am going to do something maniacally mushy to you, and make you scream till your brain dissolves into mush and there is nothing left of you but a sweet, huggable stuffed animal!"

"No you won't! You like me this way, remember?" he cackled happily. Ketala grunted and rolled out from under the blows of her attackers, jumping to her feet just outside the fray. She came face to face with Ras Frostwhisper, and for the first time in a long while, she did not have Nathanos at her back. The lich was exceptionally formidable. He stood (or floated, whichever you prefer) around eight feet tall. Massive chains spiraled around his form. The plates of his necromantic robes had great blue gems imbedded in them, and spiraling bone armor wrapped protectively around his upper body, and a cold white aura spilled out from his ribcage and funneled down into the floor.

"Um… hi?"

For the first time, Ras Frostwhisper got a good look at the female invader. She was in close-fitting white plate, with the symbol of the silver hand emblazoned on her chest piece. Ketala Truae. The lich bared his teeth in a skeletal imitation of a grin, frost energy rippling around his arms. The female looked up at him, her black hair sliding back behind her ears.

That face… Instantaneously the lich went rigid. His spell shuddered and then went haywire, exploding in a shower of ice crystals. Several summoners were transformed into blue pin cushions. Nathanos survived by ducking. Ketala utilized the infamous paladin divine shield. For a moment, she was impervious to all attacks, and in that moment, Ras Frostwhisper just stared at her. That face… The shape of her jaw, the blue-black coloration of her hair… the almond shape of her eyes, the stubborn point of her chin…

"… Alanna…"

Ketala blinked.

Slowly, tentatively, the lich drifted forward. His back was arched and he was leaning over, staring at her with sheer amazement. After so long with Kel'Thuzad, Ketala had learned to read lich facial expressions expertly. This one was in shock. She did not move as the undead drifted closer to her.

Frostwhisper lifted a hand, his decrepit claws drifting toward the girl's face. He touched her cheek and then drew back his hand an inch in surprise, almost as if he had expected her to be a ghost. After a moment, he reached forward again, gently cupping her cheek in his skeletal claws.

"Alanna…" he whispered weakly, confusion apparent in his voice.

"_Kill. Her."_ The Lich King's will screamed down into his skull and he shrieked, jerking backwards and clutching his head. Skeletal fingertips dug into thick bone. His eyes flamed white and dark blue. _"KILL. HER."_ Something inside the lich's mentally unstable head snapped.

* * *

Theramore

"I apologize, Stormrage, that I could not address you last night. I was conducting a vital assembly between two very opposed leaders. It was a matter of diplomatic importance."

The Lady Proudmoore appeared to be entirely unfazed by the ten foot demon that had walked into her study. Illidan was twice Jaina's height, and quite possibly six times her mass. Smoky flames trailed around him as he walked, and his demon-hunter tattoos glowed with unholy green flame. His eyes gave off a sickly green smoke, as if something were actually burning beneath his bandana. His clothing was ragged and battered, regenerating horns jabbed up from his forehead, massive wings curled up like spider legs from his back, and thick claws sprouted from his fingers. Unlike most sorcerers, he possessed a ridiculous profusion of muscle and sinew. His skin was pale to the point of being translucent, black violet hair partially obscured his visage, and his face was perpetually set in a lupine snarl. And she showed not the slightest sign of intimidation. He had to give her credit.

"What was it you desired to speak with me about?"

Illidan merely grunted and shifting his arms, displaying the tiny wolverine-girl who snarled there. Ember was not enjoying the situation, and she voiced her distaste by producing a deep and throaty growl in the back of her throat. The Lady Proudmoore blinked in surprise.

"Who is…?"

"Her name is Ember Stormrage. She is Tyrande and Furion's child."

"Furion's?" she asked aloud, and a smile moved over her face. Illidan snorted. "Yes… I visited Tyrande when the twins were newborns… Before Furion returned to the Emerald Dream. He remarked on how similar she looked to you. It's even stranger to see her as a toddler… But why have you come to speak to me –" She paused, focusing entirely on Ember, and her eyes narrowed.

"Good. At least you see it. That's more than I'd hoped."

"… What happened…?"

"Apparently this one has been possessed since she was first able to crawl. She throws violent fits whenever she's angry. Since she's been in my company, she's developed a feral hatred of all other sentient beings."

"Possessed?"

"There is little other explanation for it. I can see her aura… her entire body is suffused in demonic magic. For all that we know, there is no child within her- only a demon."

"… Why is it you came to speak with me about this?"

"I have dealt with Sargaras's relics in the past. I once stole his eye from his tomb, in order that I might use it against Arthas. I was there ten thousand years ago when he attempted to enter our world…" He paused, not desiring to speak further about that. "… I came to you because you know about Medivh."

Jaina paled. "Medivh was possessed by Sargaras, I hardly think that-"

"Do you see my horns? They were sawed off when I was taken from Icecrown. Frostbite had taken them. Just by being near her for a month, she has caused them to regrow. Her demonic aura is so profuse that I am being tainted by her mere presence. Her aura is sickly and powerful beyond anything I have ever seen before. Most demons do not contain a fraction of the blight that is within her."

Jaina looked at the young child for a long moment.

"… … Medivh's mother was a woman by the name of Aegwynn. She fought in an epic battle to defeat the lord of the Burning Legion. You found the eye of Sargaras in the tomb she built for him; the same tomb that Gul'dan sought to plunder. However… when she defeated him, Sargaras infiltrated her womb. He waited for many long years, until she finally chose the perfect mate… and when she conceived, he stitched himself into the very fiber of the child's being. Aegwynn passed her power on to him. Medivh was normal until his fourteenth birthday, when Aegwynn's power manifested, and Sargaras suddenly seized control of him. He remained in a coma for many years. When he emerged from it, he was under control of the dark lord."

Illidan nodded. "I know that tale."

"… Tyrande and Furion defeated Archimonde," Jaina said quietly. Illidan frowned. "... Still, that does not explain why the girl is given to such fits of violence. If she truly was possessed, why wouldn't Archimonde wait until she was older and stronger before evidencing that he was there? Why would he "blow his cover" so obviously?"

The half demon looked down at the little girl in her arms. She was still growling, entirely oblivious to the conversation at hand. Jaina observed the two of them for a moment, and then gave out a long, low sigh. "… I will help you," she announced.

"How?"

"… I am acquainted with Aegwynn. If anyone knows how to reverse such a possession, it is her."

* * *

Hillsbrad

Umpi shrieked in dismay, stumbling helplessly away from the large mountain lion that was chasing after her. Terror gave her speed, but the chase was a short one. There was no way in hell that a polymorphed toad could outrun or outfight a hunting cat. It was therefore quite fortunate that when the mountain lion leapt in an attempt to bring down the fleeing humanoid, a particularly stupid Yeti blundered between the two. The Yeti's name was Lenny, if anyone in the audience was wondering. He had just eaten a breakfast of grass clippings and bear droppings, and was on his way over to the syndicate tower to see if the humans would let him pet their pretty robes. In any event, the mountain lion landed on Lenny's head. This was quite stressful for the poor Yeti, and he began bellowing and running around like a chicken with its head cut off. Not only did this prove to be exceedingly amusing for several undead rogues cloaked in stealth nearby, but it gave Umpi the opportunity to get away. By the time the mountain lion could get its fang's out of Lenny's particularly thick skull, it couldn't even remember what it had been chasing in the first place.

Unfortunately for Lenny, his meager sacrifice was in vain, as Umpi simply ran headlong into the Hillsbrad Fields. Farmers in all directions looked up in dismay as a female undead ran streaking nude through their fields, tripped over a sleeping cow, and did a face plant into a pumpkin.

Farmer Ray lifted a brow. It was a credit to human integrity that his only thoughts were "What the hell is a nude undead doing in my pumpkin patch?"

Farmer Getz lifted a brow. It was a blow to human integrity that his only thoughts were "Damn, that's some hot ass."

To each his own. It might be some comfort to the reader to learn that Lydon had worked his sadistic magic upon the inhabitants of Hillsbrad before. Farmer Ray's dog, a beast by the name of Stanly, was one of those inhabitants. The dog had been twisted beyond recognition by one of Lydon's potions, and had been throwing a violent fit for the better part of an hour. At the precise moment that Umpi face planted into Ray's pumpkins, the hound's leash finally snapped. The hound bounded forward, and took it upon itself to attack the first thing it laid eyes upon. Farmer Getz was in the middle of wondering whether or not it would be a feasible course of action to drag off the undead female and have his way with her. He was very rudely interrupted by a large dog sinking its teeth into his groin area. This particular set of canine-related events was, in fact, responsible for the castration of the mentioned farmer.

In any event, Umpi eventually pulled herself out of the pumpkin she had sprawled into, looking around with wide eyes at the surrounding environment. Immediately her vision filled with the unfriendly pronged ends of a two dozen pitchforks.

She wailed in terror, and attempted to hide under the cow.

It took the farmers a few minutes to dispose of Stanly, and in that time Lydon managed to crest a hill overlooking the Hillsbrad fields. With a gesture of his hand he sent several human guards running away in sheer terror, and his eyes widened as he saw Umpi's predicament. Without thinking, he bolted down the side of the hill, magic swirling up around his arms.

The various farmers and farmhands didn't put up that much of a resistance. The ones who didn't run away in mute terror were either bombed with holy flame or ripped apart from the inside by various curses and diseases. In the end, a very bewildered Farmer Ray, a terrified Umpi, a confused cow, and a distressed Lydon were all that remained. The apothecary immediately rushed up to the nude female. He was still clutching the package of clothes that he had intended to give to her. He extracted a cloak from the package and cast it over her body. Then with both arms he wrapped it around her and pulled her out from under the bewildered cow. She wailed and thrashed for a moment, and so he stroked her hair gently in order to calm it. It worked. Within a minute or so Umpi was sitting quietly and allowing Lydon to pet and rock her.

Farmer Ray cleared his throat. The apothecary blinked and looked up at the Farmer, a tad confused as to how he had managed to miss the farmer with all of his various spells. However, upon getting a closer look at the farmer her squinted and then docked his head to the side.

"Your name is Ray," he decided.

"… It is. If it's not too much trouble, could you please explain to me what's going on?"

"Oh, nothing really. I turned my toad into a human, but she was dead, so she turned into an undead, and then she ran up my chimney and I had to chase after her."

"I see," the farmer said solemnly, rubbing his chin. "Well, that would explain just about everything… Her lack of clothing, how she managed to fall over a sleeping cow, and why an undead would ever run straight into the middle of Hillsbrad fields… Ah- wait. Why exactly did my dog go insane and rip out the family jewels of my next-door neighbor?"

"Flees."

"… Those must have been some damn angry flees."

"Maybe they were rioting because their employers wouldn't give them good dental care plans?"

"… You're crazy, aren't you?"

"No. Depressed and sarcastic, maybe, but not yet crazy."

"Go figure. So how's everything at Tarren Mill?"

"Eh, could be better. High Executor Darthalia is sending adventurers on a quest to kill you and your farmhands again."

"Again? By the Light, that woman just wont take 'no' for an answer, will she? If I don't like her as a living breathing human, what makes her think I'll date her as a Forsaken?"

Lydon shrugged. "Death changes people."

Ray lifted a brow, and watched the undead priest dress the distressed undead female. "I can see that," he said after a moment. "And what's with sending adventurers after Hillsbrad anyway? Darthalia is a powerhouse. Alone she could slaughter every last remaining farmhand in the fields. With a Deathguard or two she'd be unbeatable."

"Who knows? Maybe she's a bit embarrassed about being enamored with you."

Farmer Ray looked at himself, and noted his dusty leather pant legs, his nondescript plaid shirt, and his straw hat.

"… I could defiantly see that."

At that moment there was an exceptionally profound dragon roar. It was a roar of such a quality and timbre that all who heard it could be absolutely certain that some idiot had just led a small red dragon- possibly Narillasanz- down out of Alterac and straight for the Hillsbrad Fields, in order that said idiot might watch the dragon slaughter the helpless peasants there. A split second after the roar was heard, a great gout of fire blasted across the landscape, and a gnome ran streaking naked through the fields. As much as Ray desired to stand there and wonder why two people had run naked through his field in one day, there was a large red dragon blowing fire through the area. In light of these extenuating circumstances, Ray did the only sane thing to do: he yelped and attempted to hide beneath his drowsy cow.

This, of course, left Lydon and Umpi to face the angry dragon alone.

* * *

Theramore

"There is nothing I can do for this child. You can see her taint, can't you? There is nothing in this mortal shell but a demon. If there ever was a little girl within that body, it has long since dispersed."

Illidan bristled at Aegwynn's dismissive words, and Jaina bit her lip. The little girl was playing with Mathghamhuin, Jaina's Frostwolf. The animal was enough of a distraction that the girl had long since calmed down. She was roughhousing happily with the beast.

"I am well aware of the extent of the girl's taint."

"Then you should be aware of the fact that I cannot save something that is not there to begin with."

"You saved Medivh." Aegwynn snorted.

"Medivh almost killed me, and I barely escaped with my life. It took twenty-one years to come up with the power to bring him back from the dead, and he was only freed from Sargaras by the grace of the powers that be. Unless you are willing to kill Ember and go through the risky and uncertain process of reviving her, there is nothing that can be done."

"Perhaps I am willing. There is nothing more I can do for her," the demon argued, his teeth grit together.

"Even if you are willing, there isn't any reason to believe that she won't return uncorrupted. Medivh was a special case. The Light itself sent him back to this world, in order that he might make amends for his great sins."

"Listen, you arrogant self-righteous-"

"Aegwynn," Jaina butted in, placing a hand on Illidan's arm in order to calm the large sorcerer. "Aegwynn, I understand what you are saying, and I understand your reservations. But you have fought against the Burning Crusade all your life. Please, can you at least examine her more closely? If there is any hope for her whatsoever…"

Aegwynn frowned. "What makes this child so special? Tyrande and Furion already have one child. Why go through so much pain and effort to save a single life? You know she is corrupted by Archimonde. The safest, kindest, and most responsible thing for you to do would be to kill her."

"Why go through so much effort to save Medivh?" Illidan snapped. Aegwynn's response was immediate:

"To atone for all the many sins I committed when I brought him into this world. To give him a chance to atone for his."

"Then I seek to save Ember in atonement for my own."

"No," Aegwynn responded, eyeing the half demon with distaste. "You are doing it so that Tyrande might look upon you more favorably."

Illidan glowered. "…Tyrande asked me to find a way to save her."

"If Tyrande, high priestess of Elune, could not even scratch the surface of this girl's taint, then there is no hope that anyone else will be able to."

"That may be, but I have made her my responsibility. I promised Tyrande to try and save her. I cannot give up without trying."

"That does not make her my responsibility."

Jaina sighed, and butted in again with: "Magna, please-"

Mathghamhuin suddenly yelped and squealed in alarm. Immediately Illidan whirled around. Ember had pounced on the wolf and was currently trying to extract one of his eyes from his cranium. The animal was writhing and snarling and biting, but the little girl was not letting go. Illidan yelled "Ember!" and Jaina yelled "Math!" at almost the same time, and they both rushed forward to separate the two combatants. Aegwynn frowned and observed. Something was wrong.

* * *

Scholomance

Ras went mad. He screamed in incoherent rage, hurling ice and magic around his study with wild abandon. Bolts of ice and flame slammed through one wall, causing it to crumble in a shower of books and alchemical equipment. His aura had turned entirely red. His eyes were flaming red, the energy in his chest cavity was red, and the aura holding him aloft was all red, and all flaming. Ketala and Nathanos both took a hint and laid low as soot and bodies covered them. When the room was silent again, and the walls were no longer crumbling, they pushed themselves out of the debris. Nathanos looked to the entrance of the room, and noticed that the entire thing was scored black. Frostwhisper had evidently continued his rampage elsewhere in Scholomance.

"Two gold pieces says you're related to him."

Ketala blinked. "I seemed to remind him of someone, but what makes you think that he and I are related in any way?"

"There are only so many creatures in this world who turn into physical manifestations of all-consuming rage when put through emotional stress. And of those few, there are only a scant number that can do so at such a cliché, rushed, and yet climactic moment as this."

"… You make good points. Do you think Tirion is okay?"

"I hope not." He stood and came over to her, and helped to pull her out of the debris. Once she was standing again, she suddenly grabbed him around the middle and hugged him tightly against her, smothering her helmeted cheek into his shoulder. He blinked and looked at her quietly a moment. "… If it's any consolation, I did not kill the old man."

Ketala giggled softly. "I love you."

"And you just suddenly had the urge to remind me of this in the middle of an underground school of necromancy when we should be chasing after an insane lich?" She sighed and squeezed him a bit tighter. "… You're still upset from what happened earlier. The hallucination," he observed.

"… I felt Frostwhisper's mind for a moment… There was a sense of such loneliness, such loss within him…" The Ranger Lord looked towards the entrance to the Lich's chamber. Gauging by the sounds of battle, Frostwhisper was moving further into Scholomance. The longer they waited, the more there was a chance that the lich would kill Tirion, and the more confusion and disorder Ras would cause among the Scholomance inhabitants. After a moment of pondering, he looked back at Ketala and then wrapped his arms around her. He deftly removed her helm and then began stroking her hair reassuringly.

"You owe me a full-scale slaughter for this."

"I know," she mumbled. "It's worth every blood drop." He smiled and cocked his head to the side, looking at her quietly a moment. Then he cupped the side of her head, pressed his face into her soft black hair, and closed his eyes. Ketala smiled. "And for enjoying it so much, you owe me-"

"I love you."

Silence.

"Never mind."

* * *

Theramore

Illidan managed to extra Ember from the tussle without extracting Math's eye along with her. The girl thrashed madly, screaming out her raged and biting and clawing furiously at Illidan's arms. Aegwynn pursed her lips in a thoughtful expression, and then strode forward. Ember lashed out at her with her bare hands, screaming out her fury at the human woman.

"… I was mistaken," the Second-to-Last Guardian said after a long moment. "There is something left within this child that can still be saved."

"Oh? And how do you figure that?" Illidan asked bitterly. Blood was actually showing on his arms. If Ember was biting him hard enough to draw blood, she might actually be doing serious muscular damage to her jaw muscles.

"… Whenever she is in a position where Archimonde's demonic whispers would be the strongest, she goes mad. Her rage blots out his murmurings. Her violence transforms her into a berserk animal- something he cannot reach and cannot claim. These fits you describe are not signs of her demonic possession… Amazingly enough, they are the signs that she is fighting back." Illidan lifted his gaze dubiously to the woman's face.

"Fighting back? Are you mad? You have seen the taint swimming through her veins. How could any child possibly fight back against possession by a demon lord?"

"Not only is she fighting back, but she recognized the evil within her on her own. She is the reason we can see Archimonde's taint. She is the one fighting back against him. Her spiritual stamina is amazing. Despite the fact that he has infiltrated every fiber of her being, she refuses him. The demonic energy she outputs is her forcefully shuttling his energy out of her body so that she might contain him."

"But how could a child-"

"I know not. I do not claim to understand why a child can refuse a Dark Lord when the greatest mages and leaders of our age cannot. There is a great fiery spirit within this one, and it refuses to be controlled."

"Then what can be done?"

"… I do not know. There are so many paths that might lead to her redemption, and yet all but one of them lead to her destruction. I could not possibly point out the right one. Your guess is as good as mine. Do you teach her magic, so that she can combat the force within her, and drain it of power? Do you teach her druidism so that she is in harmony with the animalistic nature that she uses as a shield against him? Do you ask the druids for aid? Do you ask the paladins? And what could anyone hope to do if Tyrande Whisperwind could do nothing?" Illidan frowned, looking down at the tiny girl and trying to hold her mouth close. She was throwing a total fit at that, and was quite possibly on the brink of breaking her own neck. "… You have heard of the Draenie?" Aegwynn asked after a long moment.

"Yes. I have some in my… "employment"." Aegwynn frowned, but did not comment on that.

"We have recently received word that an entire species of enigmatic creatures have appeared on an island west of Azeroth. The creatures call themselves "Draenie," but they are beautiful creatures. They resemble Satyr in ways, but where Satyr are decrepit and tainted, they are whole and pure. They claim to be followers of the holy light, and they were led from their destroyed planet by a race of creatures closely tied with the holy Light, known as Naaru. In addition, we have learned from them that the Eredar were once Draenie… And that Archimonde was once one of the Draenie's greatest leaders. I cannot promise you that they will be able to help… But they _might_ be able to do something for Ember."

"Except, of course, if they worship the Holy Light, it would be a tad difficult for a half demon to go to them for aid," Illidan countered sarcastically.

"You asked for my aid. This is all I can give," replied Aegwynn. "Good day."

* * *

Scholomance

Nathanos was very disappointed to learn that not only was Tirion not dead, but the paladin was stealthily following Ras and utilizing the lich's rampage to exterminate the Scholomance populace. Paladins! One moment you think you've figured them all out, and the next you stand flabbergasted as one utilizes its enemies' rage against them, and invests in stealth and other sophisticated battle tactics. What was the world coming to?

In any event, Ras cut a nice swathe through the middle of Scholomance. He didn't go after any of the instructors, but Nathanos preferred it that way. The most interesting part of any battle was taking down enemy leaders. Interestingly enough, Ras appeared to be making a B-line for the center of the necromancy school. So, of course, they followed him. He made their job easy, and he was fun to watch.

It was only when they were entering the lowest chamber of Scholomance, around which most of the school's greatest instructors were oriented, that Nathanos realized they were walking into a trap. By following Ras, they had unwittingly left an entire dungeon of monstrosities behind them. The party was surrounded. They had no means of escape, so they would have to fight and kill whatever they discovered in these depths. There would be no running away, and no second chances.

Ras halted his mindless crusade, pausing in the center of The Headmaster's Study. Flames blazed from his eyes and he jerked his head up, his jaws parting wide. He screamed a single word, a name: "**GANDLING**!" and then when the Darkmaster did not appear he shrieked loudly: "COME OUT AND FACE ME!"

"Something's wrong," Nathanos murmured.

"What do you mean?" Ketala inquired softly, watching Frostwhisper intently.

"I don't like this. We should get out of here. Now." She blinked and looked over at him. For once, Nathanos looked exceedingly uncertain- even worried. Something about their situation struck him as direly wrong.

"I believe you-"

"Yes… A keen observation, Nathanos," murmured a tired sounding voice. Tirion immediately whirled around to view the speaker. Neither Ketala nor Nathanos bothered. They both recognized the voice.

There, standing in the exit to the Headmaster's study, and barring their only means of escape, was Kel'Thuzad. Alongside of him were two additional liches and a small group of banshees. Even as he spoke, they could hear the sound of abominations and skeletons coming up behind him. Ketala and Nathanos glanced at each other, and then looked down into The Headmaster's Study. The clacking of spider legs heralded six Nerubian lords, one of which emerged from each hall that branched off of the study. Beside each one was an instructor of Scholomance, all the way up to Alexei Barov himself.

"Well, we're screwed," Nathanos remarked offhandly.

"It's a good thing we came alone, or I'd have gotten the entire populace of Andorhal slaughtered," Ketala agreed with remarkable calmness.

"Well at least we'd be able to defeat them if we had the entire populace of Andorhal with us. After all, that's what defeated Kel'Thuzad last time."

"Yes, but in retrospect, Kel'Thuzad's attack was mob-like, quick, and totally discombobulated. Not a streamlined ambush."

"True... True... I don't suppose you have another one of those "flip out and rip apart the surrounding fabric of reality"s left in you?"

"I don't even know how I did that last time."

"The word you said was "Summa"."

"Yes, but I'm sure there was more to it than that."

By this time, even the rampaging Frostwhisper had noticed Kel'Thuzad's beautiful ambush, and he whirled around to look at the archlich.

"Ah, yes… Ras Frostwhisper," Kel'Thuzad murmured softly. "Thank you so much for luring these adventurers down into the pit of Scholomance. And Nathanos, let me personally express the Lich King's gratitude that you were too enraged at Varimathras to listen to his warning about me. As long as you remain so predictable, you shall continue to fall into his hands."

Nathanos didn't respond, looking around the study and quickly thinking up several plans and tactics. Frostwhisper, on the other hand, acted as if a bucket of water had been poured over him. His flaming aura dispersed into a weak smoke, and his eyes widened. "A…Alanna…" he whispered weakly. He was ignored.

Kel'Thuzad merely smiled quietly and looked at Ketala. The girl had not yet turned to face him. She was observing Nathanos's face, and reading their chances of survival from the subtle clues on his countenance. After a long moment, she lowered her eyes, and then slowly moved so as to look back at her most beloved parental figure. His eyes were a dark, deep blue, and chains spiraled around his torso.

"… Guardian…?" she asked softly.

"Too late, I learned that power does not come without a price," he answered, and his voice was dull and accepting. "Forgive me… Kill them" And with that, magical energies whirled around his arms. All hell broke loose. Kel'Thuzad's the crypt lords swarmed forward and the liches, necromancers, and banshees began to cast. Nathanos immediately moved, darting towards Kel'Thuzad, axes whirling. Tirion followed immediately, holy energy exploding down onto the lich.

Kel'Thuzad was entirely unfazed. Unlike every single other time that they had ever fought the archlich, Kel'Thuzad was entirely in control. He held no uncertainties. He was not distances from the Lich King. He was a demigod. Explosions of frost rippled out from him, slamming into Tirion and ripping huge chunks out of his plate armor. Shadowy fissures opened into the ground, exploding outward with shadow energy. Ketala stumbled away from one by the skin of her teeth. She could feel part of her leg armor simply _vanish_… as if it had never been. Ice ripped through the ground, causing the entire room to crackle and moan in displeasure. Nathanos alone reached Kel'Thuzad, and his axes merely glanced over the lich's frost shield. Frost bolts ripped into the ranger and hurled him backward, blowing him into and through the ledge of the study's balcony, and down into the second level.

Nathanos.

That single blast had almost killed him. A second world entirely obliterate him. Ketala's eyes went wide, to the point where the white was showing all the way around her iris.

"WAIT! WAIT!" she screamed, and she darted up to the lich. His eyes shifted to her and more energy built up around him, but she stumbled, fell to her knees, and both of her weapon's clattered to the ground. "Wait! Please! Wait!" She begged, reaching forward and seizing one of the plates of the lich's floating robes. Cold energy ripped up the ground around her from a spell cast by one of Kel'Thuzad's loyal minions, but she ignored it, clinging to the lich's robes and looked up at him pleadingly.

The archlich said nothing, but suddenly his minions stopped moving.

"Spare them! Please, spare them, and take me instead! I will hand myself over willingly, just-please!"

Kel'Thuzad smiled. "I was sent to kill you, Ketala. What makes you think you are worth the Lich King's time?"

Tears had formed in the girl's eyes, and they were freezing around halfway down her face. The lich was so cold… "Because you stopped! Because you purposefully did not kill Nathanos, knowing what he means to me! Because I was made as his weapon!" Although Kel'Thuzad did not move, she could feel his pleasure increase. "Please- _Please_! I will return to what I was meant to be! I will become the Death Knight I was created to be! I will pick up from before I was released, if only you will spare them! Please!"

"Them? What exactly constitutes as "Them"?" Ketala choked, shuddering.

"A-andorhal… Nathanos… T-tiron! _Please!_"

"Ah… the condition… That the Lich King let Andorhal be… Tell me Ketala, when you are at my mercy and your companion is on his last leg, why do you still bargain as if you hold something over Ner'zhul?"

"Some fates are worse than death," she replied, her voice hushed. "If Arthas wants me, he must spare that which I love."

"Ketala! Do not give in- that is madness!" Tirion exclaimed. He had healed himself and he was hefting his hammer once more.

"So you will do anything if only Arthas will take you back, but to take you, he must meet certain conditions? How does that work?" the lich inquired sweetly, entirely ignoring Tirion. His eyes bored into hers, his aura soaking into the air around her.

Ketala did not back down, or give in, or begin to cry. Instead, she latched onto his robes and pulled herself up. She looked up at him, eyes wide.

"Guardian… please…" she whispered, lifting a hand to one of his tusks.

"Now, now, Ketala, if you want me to consider your offer, you must give me a reason."

"Because if you refuse, I blow your head off with holy energies, seize your Phylactery, and bomb it with holy light till my dying breath. You know me. I will not be bound by Arthas's will unless I give in."

Kel'Thuzad stared at her for the longest moment, noting how skillfully she managed to maneuver past all of his defenses. Oh yes… the Lich King wanted her. And now, perhaps, after so many setbacks, so much trial and error, so many humiliating blunders…

"Do you know what your one weakness is, Ketala? The one reason you cannot think of another way to defeat me? The single, sole, and only factor that keeps you from destroying me and then ripping through every last one of my minions? Because you could do it. Nathanos needs only the duration of our conversation to recover… Tirion is on his feet… And if you truly, truly needed to, you could reawaken the elemental power within you." He tilted his head to the side, and smiled sadly at her. "… You have but one weakness, and it has defeated you at ever point thus far: You are still trying to save my soul."

"_KETALA! NO!" _Nathanos's mind screamed into hers. _"He is like me! You are taking his bait, hook, line, and sinker! Do not give in to him! He will take you, the same way he almost did in Icecrown!"_

"… I have to," Ketala Truae whispered softly. "You saved mine…"

Nathanos's eyes widened in disbelief. He had hulled himself back up to his feet and downed a Trolls potion. When he heard her, he almost snorted the potion out of his nose. By the Twisting Nether, what was going through that stupid girl's head?

"**_KETALA! KETALA YOU STUPID FOOL!"_** he screamed mentally at her, bolting for the stairs. Ras Frostwhisper beat him to it, shrieking and firing up the stairs, flaming energy rippling along his body. Two liches, and several necromancers moved into his way, and by force of magic alone, they restrained him. Frostwhisper screamed and moaned, fighting against their magical strengths with every fiber of rage he possessed.

Kel'Thuzad regarded Ketala a long moment, before slowly, gently wrapping his arms around her and stroking her back. Very, very softly, he murmured: "The Lich King accepts your terms." He turned his gaze to Nathanos and his crypt lords suddenly rushed the ranger, distracting and slowing him. "Nathanos will be spared. You are no use to the Lich King broken."

"Tirion? Andorhal?"

"Tirion will be sent directly to Light's Hope Chapel. I promise."

"Your promises are worth nothing."

"If he is killed, our agreement is not binding, and you need not give yourself over to the Lich King," Kel'thuzad murmured soothingly. "Come. Naxxramas awaits."

Flames cascaded around Ras, and he screamed out strange words in a foreign tongue: "Ssussun! Ssussun! Dumo ussta dalhar! Dormagyn ussta dalhar!"

Kel'Thuzad's eyes narrowed, and he lifted a hand. An explosion of frost sent Ras flying backwards into the balcony on the other side of the room. He crashed through it, breaking through wood, and iron, and stone, and then dropped lifelessly to the ground, his aura burning away to nothing. He eyed the ruined body of the lich for a moment, and then carefully put an arm around Ketala's shoulders, and led her off.

She went without complaint. Her mind was silent, nestled beside Nathanos's own, and she let him attack her verbally until his last conscious movement. And then she waited, his unconscious mind cradled within her own, and she prayed to whatever gods were listening that Kel'Thuzad held to his word.

Strangely… she could not help but feel safe with the lich's arm around her. There was an immense and overpowering sensation that she had at last come home.

* * *

Heheheh! Before the Burning Crusade Launched, Kel'Thuzad was the single most powerful unit in the entire game. It took an entire raid of level 40s from a guild that dominated an entire server in Tier 3 armor with a lot of luck to actually take him down, and its been done very few times. It's still estimated that it would take 20-30 level 70s to even attempt him. Its hard to describe sheer uberness with simple words, so go to YouTube or Google Video and watch thousands of highly organized guilds just go splat against him, heheh! 

Review! **Yarg!**


	44. Unplesant Endings

Before this chapter begins and the story ends, I would like to have a little discussion about time. According to Blizzard entertainment, World of Warcraft happened four years after the Frozen Throne. This makes perfect sense, and it's good to have a time barrier in there to allow things to change. However, everything that happened in World of Warcraft, from killing Onyxia and Nefarion, to taking on Ragnaros all supposedly happened within the span of a single year! The Burning Crusade is staged to have happened a single year after World of Warcraft began. That makes it a little hard on me for everything in this fanfiction to occur. First of all, it took a year or two for Nathanos and Ketala to get acquainted, and to organize the attack against Northrend. Only _after_ the attack against Northrend does Tyrande give birth to Ember and Fenuine.

So if I'm already a year or two behind schedule, how exactly is Ember supposed to grow into a toddler in time for the Burning Crusade to start? Well, I figured that since Blizzard can do all sorts of crazy things with time, from totally altering the history of Warcraft to introducing the Caverns of Time, I'm allowed some leeway. After all, according to their timeline, Grom Hellscream was 15 when he became the leader of his clan, Garona has mysterious changed race, there are 14 years suddenly missing from the calendar, and Thrall is only 17 years old max. Plus, he was only 10 when he started the New Horde.

Due to all of this, I think I am safely allowed to drop four years or so into the World of Warcraft timeline- just enough for Nathanos and Ketala to get closer and Ember to grow up into a toddler. And maybe for Thrall to be able to legally imbibe alcohol, hahaha!

REmember: THIS IS THE LAST CHAPTER! IF you want to continue reading, you're going to have to read the sequel, "Truae" which I will begin work on immediatly.

* * *

_**Unpleasant Endings**_

* * *

__

Interlude

Furion was rarely able to move out of the Emerald Dream. The nightmare was moving into all corners and crevices of the Dream- polluting it horribly. It was Furion's theory that the corruption of Ysera's realm had something to do with the fluctuations in Nozdormu's. Somehow, he speculated, the nightmare and the disturbances in time were connected. And yet, despite all that was happening, Cenarius had insisted that Malfurion return to the mortal world.

At first, the archdruid had refused. His duty was to the Emerald Dream, and he could not simply return home for his own personal desires. However, with the demigod's growing insistence, Furion had at last given in to his desires, and returned. The demigod had known what he was doing by sending him back. Furion's spirit had become so disconnected with his body that he could barely return to the mortal world. Had he waited any longer to return, he might have been lost to the Dream forever.

Malfurion had given a moral boost to his people. He had strengthened bonds with the Tauren, and had met the child Aweo. The archdruid had also been able to learn about what had been going on in the mortal world for the past four years.

Most importantly, he was able to see his children. He was able to kiss them, and hold them in his arms. He had been there at the moment of their birth, and he had helped Tyrande tend to them for the first few weeks. The druid had been able to see Tyrande again…

Furion had not known how depressed and sickly his spirit had become until he was in her presence, and everything within him rejuvenated. The nightmare had taken a treacherous hold on his spirit. Without seeing her again, without holding his children and feeling her love, he might not have had the strength to continue the battle in the Emerald Dream.

The downside to this was that he now knew that his children were growing up without him. He missed Tyrande with a passion, and often visited her through her dreams. It detracted from his role in the battle, but it gave him untold strength against his foes. He had something to fight for. He had a cause to champion, and a family to save. It was not simply a battle of good against evil. It was also a battle to protect the tiny children in his care.

It was also how he first found out that something was wrong with his daughter. He was completely and entirely incapable of reaching her dreams.

* * *

Theramore

Ember only ate meat. She preferred it raw. It was an interesting aspect of her nature- something that Illidan had never quite understood. There wasn't any particular reason for it. The Lady Proudmoore had provided guest accommodations for Kael and himself. The demon hunter was currently lounging in his, and allowing his mind to wander. Ember was perched in his lap, and he was quietly feeding her bits of charred liver. Liver was like candy to her. She ate until her heart was content, and then, quite surprisingly, snuggled up against him.

Illidan blinked, looking down at the little girl. She smiled, and then yawned, her eyes drooping sleepily. Well, that was a good sign. Ember hadn't evidenced signs of normal sleep patterns since he'd first taken her from Nighthaven in Moonglade some seven months ago. Seven months… Had it really been that long? Most of it he had spent in Moonglade, trying to get the tiny child to function normally again. Judging by how insane the girl had been for the first few months, Illidan came to the conclusion that had Ember remained with the Nightelves, she would have simply snapped one day and gone completely feral. His musings and Ember's nappy time were both interrupted by Kael opening the door to the room and striding in. Ember jumped and hissed, her fingers tightening into fists. Illidan put a restraining arm around the girl and stroked her hair.

"Lord Illidan, the ship is prepared. We can depart any time you desire." The demonhunter lifted a brow.

"Ah? So eager to get away from little Miss Proudmoore?"

Kael flushed. "I simply thought my lord would desire to be on his way."

An amused smile worked its way over Illidan's face, and he leaned back against his couch. "It would seem that something did not go right with her… What is it? Has the young lady been whoring around behind your back? Or maybe she's just found someone more suitable?"

Kael's hands clenched into fists. "My lord knows not of which he speaks to assume that the Lady Proudmore is a whore."

"Ah? So she _has _found someone else?"

Damn Illidan. The blood elf closed his eyes and took in a deep, slow breath, before looking again at the half-demon. "Yes. And with my blessing." Illidan smiled sadistically. He was about to say something, but Kael'Thas cut him off. "I will never be you. I will not cause pain to those I care for out of an unwillingness to let them go," he said adamantly, and he turned, heading for the door. Illidan bristled and stood, his missing eyes glowing as two points of smoky green through his bandana.

Ember got to the elf prince first. She rammed into one of Kael's legs while the elfin leader was mid-step. Even with all his racial grace, Kael fell to the side with a grunt. Immediately Ember was on him, screaming in unintelligible rage and clawing at his face. The blood elf gasped in surprise and then tried to hold off the child. He gasped in greater surprise when she got through his arms and clawed open the side of his face with nothing more than her fingernails.

Illidan watched in amusement as Kael'thas tried to pry the girl off of him without draining her of energy. Within thirty seconds, the elf's face was streaked with his own blood, and Ember was tearing a gouge out of his arm. Satisfied, the demon hunter came up to the prince and stooped. With a bit of effort he detached Ember's jaws from the blood elf's arm and hoisted her up into the air. Ember growled, blood oozing down her lips. Illidan smirked at her and then regarded Kael quietly. The elf prince touched his own face, looked at the blood, and then lifted his gaze weakly to Illidan's own.

"… Get out of my sight," the half demon muttered disdainfully.

Kael obeyed.

It was dangerous to interrupt Ember's nappy time.

* * *

Some Time Later

Illidan took the ship ride home to give himself time to think. Ember was reasonably stable, and he understood her moods enough to keep her placid. Her attack on Jaina's wolf had been extremely moderate compared to fits she had given in the past, and when the attack was over with, it had been a simple matter to calm her down. Still, "placid" and "cured" were entirely different matters. Ember was possessed by a demon- Archimonde or otherwise- and her spirit was strong enough that she was able to fight him off. She could be saved. And _he_ had to find some way of saving her. The little girl stood at the side of the ship. She was watching a flock of birds fly past, and was smiling quite innocently. The demon hunter wondered if Ember suffered from multiple personality disorder or whether she simply painted that unnerving mask of innocence over her violent interior.

After a moment of regarding the child, Illidan came up beside her. She heard his footsteps and tilted her head back in order to look up at him. He looked down at her a moment, marking how different she looked when she wasn't furious. With her features softened out and her mouth and eyes set in a tentative smile, she looked so very much like Tyrande. He crouched and brushed her hair from her face. Ember giggled, turned, and promptly hugged him around the middle. The demon hunter's usually scowling mouth twisted slowly into a small smile. He hugged the girl against him with one arm.

"Have you been a good girl today?" he inquired playfully. She drew back an inch and nodded, pleased with herself. "Oh really? No drowned puppies, no Naga missing scales, no elves with their hair pulled out? You haven't set the ship on fire, have you?"

She shook her head vigorously.

"Oh. Have you set me on fire?" He looked over his own shoulder in mock concern. The little girl giggled and hugged him tighter. The demon hunter smiled and looked back down at the little girl. After a moment, he draped both of his wings around her, and gently ruffled her hair. "Well, it appears you have been a good girl today. Congratulations."

She smiled and then suddenly moved, bolting up his arm with the ease of a lemur, and chomping into his right ear. He swore, laughed, and proceeded to wrestle her off.

As it had happened, Ember had hidden some old, exceedingly stinky cheese in Kael's bedroom. Illidan wasn't that upset.

* * *

Scholomance

A sound. Muffled. He stirred lightly, and then slipped back into unconsciousness.

A sound. Louder. An impact. He shifted and grunted.

"Wake up! Wake up already! Kids these days!"

Nathanos's eyes fluttered open. His head was throbbing, his bones ached, and an old man was beating him with a stick. He allowed himself to be mildly amused.

"I said wake up!"

"I'm already-" Thwak.

"Wake up, I say!"

"I SAID IM AWAKE!" he snarled with vigor, shoving himself up to his feet. The old man was a necromancer by the looks of it, and he had a skull hat drooping down over his face. He proceeded to hit Nathanos again. Nathanos groaned upon seeing the old man, caught the end of the necromancer's staff, and slumped down against the floor.

"Eh?" the necromancer inquired, pushing back his skull hat. "Oh! Finally, you're up already! I've been trying to get you up for the better part of a minute."

"I know."

"Now I'll have none of your tongue young man! In my days, kids like you respected their ancestors!"

The Ranger Lord just looked dazedly at his surroundings for a moment. A large square room… three doors, a staircase… a balcony…

Ketala!

He jerked, propping himself up and swearing. "Ketala!"

"Yes, Ketala, haven't you been listening to a word I've been saying? Now where was I? Oh yes! Gastropods, of course!"

Without hesitation, Nathanos reached up, grabbed the old man by the scruff of the neck, and yanked him down to floor level. "No, I believe you're mistaken," he said, his teeth grit together. "You were just about to tell me where Ketala was."

"Ketala? Oh yes! That's quite right. You know, the problem with that whole situation really didn't stem from any lack of ability on yours or Ketala's part, really it had to do with-"

Nathanos snarled and hurled the man to the side and jumped to his feet. His whole body burned as if he had been dumped in a lake of acid, and he was certain that he was missing a few pounds of flesh. His mind flit through everything he knew, and he looked up at the entrance to the Headmaster's study. Ketala… Ketala was with Kel'Thuzad… And there was no way he could get to her in his current condition, much less fight off the archlich.

_Ketala… Why did you…?_He stumbled forward and caught the edge of the staircase leading up, a morose expression on his face.

"Now see here! That was totally uncalled for-"

"SHUT UP!" he shrieked, whirling around and looking at the necromancer with hatred enough to make Sargaras squirm. His eyes blazed, the hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and his entire body formed into harsh, tense lines. The Necromancer jerked back as if he had been struck. He clutched his staff against himself, a hurt expression on his face. In fact, the man looked as if he were about to burst into tears. Nathanos snarled and looked around.

Both his axes were easy to find. They were embedded in the hides of two different dead crypt lords. He walked over and retrieved them, and then found his spare axes. All four blades were very badly damaged. Once this was done, he checked himself over for any other lost gear. His bow would have to serve as his weapon of choice until he could repair his axes. A quick survey of the condition of his fingers indicated he had just enough material to work with. Several of his digits were missing, and the pointer finger on one hand had practically been amputated at the base. Damn. Damn. Damn. Now he either had to waste time searching out Zul'vii or else try to save Ketala while he was unable to dual-wield. He swore to himself, closed his eyes, and then sank to the ground and buried his face in his destroyed hands.

From this position, Nathanos heard the sound of soft crying. His eyes opened, and his jaw clenched tightly. Slowly he lifted his head, to see the necromancer sniffling and rubbing his face childishly with his sleeve.

The Ranger Lord snarled and stood up, stalking over to the man. As he moved, he reached behind him and grasped the hilt of one of his damaged axes. It was going to have to make it through one more butchering. Just one more.

The necromancer blinked and looked up at him as he approached, a bizarrely innocent look on his face. Oddly enough, Nathanos could still hear crying. The ranger blinked and looked around, his eyes darkened and closed to slits. His gaze came to rest on a pile of rubble, from which the soft crying was emerging. Without another thought to the necromancer, the Ranger Lord stalked towards the pile.

Frostwhisper. The ranger readied one axe and then looked over the edge of the rubble pile. Huddled in the fetal position, half covered in debris, and smothering his tear-streaked face into a violet dress, was a human male. He was also as naked as the day he was born.

"The hell?" the ranger inquired of no one in particular, lifting a brow.

"Oh! Oh! That was me!" The necromancer exclaimed excitedly, standing up and waving his arms. Nathanos turned and eyed the necromancer darkly.

"Explain."

"Well, Kel'Thuzad promised to spare all of you people, but he never said what he'd do with you. He mentally ordered for the undead to secure you so they could ship you off to Naxxramas, but I got here first! And I cast my spells and scared them all off; which reminds me, we must get out of here quickly. Hmmm."

Nathanos lifted a brow, thoroughly doubting that the Necromancer had the power to chase off a bunch of Cryptlords and powerful Headmasters.

"What were we talking about again?"

Yeah. Not a satisfactory explanation. "Ras Frostwhisper, and how he has suddenly become human."

"Oh! Oh! That was me-!"

"I know. Can you skip to the part about Frostwhisper?"

The necromancer grumbled about the ranger's impatience, forgot what he was supposed to be thinking about, thought for a moment more, and then wandered off. Nathanos's hands tightened around his axe's haft until it was possible that the axe would just shatter. "Oh yes!" the necromancer suddenly exclaimed, whirling back towards him. "I forgot to tell you! Tirion dropped this while they were dragging him off!" And with that, the Necromancer hoisted up a ridiculously large book that pulsed with spiritual energies- not the type of thing that just casually fell out of someone's pocket. "It's a Keepsake! It's been imbued with energies designed to turn Ras back into a human! It was very useful. The Liches were preparing to use a Dark Ritual to sap him of all life. But then, suddenly, he was human and they couldn't do the ritual anymore! Brilliant, I say, brilliant!"

"So you could scare off Alexi, Theolen, Gandling, Darkreaver, Malicia, Kormuk, Illucia, Polket, The Ravenian, and six cryptlords, but you couldn't scare off a handful of liches?"

"DO NOT QUESTION MY METHODS, YOUNG WHIPPERSNAPPER!" the necromancer exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air and waving them wildly. This, of course, caused his hat to fall down over his face, and he squealed and began running around in circles whimpering "Help! Help! I'm blind!"

Nathanos snorted and looked back at the sobbing human. After a moment, he smirked and gave a deep, dark chuckle. "So… who was Alanna?" he asked, climbing into the rubble pile and sitting down near the human. The man cringed and shuddered, looking up at him.

"You- get away from me! Get away from me, you stupid-"

Nathanos lifted an axe to the man's throat. "You were saying?" Ras's eyes widened and he suddenly jerked widely, shoving himself into the axe as if trying to behead himself. The ranger pulled the axe back and lifted a brow.

"K-kill me… please… just kill me…"

"Who was Alanna?"

"Shut up! Shut up, do not speak her name!"

"Who was Alanna?"

"GET AWAY FROM ME!" he screamed, clutching the violet dress tightly against him, his eyes wide and insane. There was an ugly scar over his neck, puckered and red, and stretching from ear to ear.

Nathanos grunted and shifted to the balls of his feet, moving forward a crouched step and putting his face right in front of the man's. "Tell me about her. Everything. Tell me what happened."

"Leave me alone! By the Nether, leave me alone!" he sobbed, his voice cracking. Nathanos lifted a skeletal hand and grabbed the chin of the naked man. "Tell me everything, or I will not be able to save her child." The man shuddered, a whimper working its way from his lips. "That's who she has to be, isn't it? Your child? She looks just like Alanna, doesn't she? Yet she has your passion. She has to be yours. Or at least, the human side has to be yours. And you have to tell me everything, or I can't help her."

Tears dripped down the man's face and he looked at his hands weakly, a shudder passing through him.

"… Alanna was my… my… T-This was her dress… She… she died…. I-I… I joined the Scourge… to-to bring her back….. but…but her body couldn't be found… D-destroyed… or burned… or-or maybe… one of the ghouls…" Tears streamed down his cheeks, dripping onto his arms. "I couldn't find her… I couldn't find her anywhere… I looked… I looked forever…"

Nathanos smirked and leaned back on the heels of his feet, contemplating this information. "And you think Gandling had to do with Ketala's creation? That Alanna may have been alive, or that Ketala was taken from her womb at death, or that Ketala was created later from Alanna's body, or some such thing? In any event, you know that he had to have access to Alanna in order to make Ketala… Which means you were betrayed and manipulated."

The man said nothing, clutching the purple dress tightly.

"And since Kel'Thuzad knew that sending Ketala to you would drive you insane and cause you to lead us into a trap, Kel'Thuzad and the lich king also knew. They betrayed you and manipulated you just as Gandling did."

The man's muscles clenched, his teeth gritting. He shivered, and then lifted his head a bit. "…I'll kill them…. I'll KILL THEM!" he screamed. Then he grabbed at the rubble around himself and hauled himself to his feet, and began stumbling determinedly towards the exit, his eyes blazing. Nathanos watched him with amusement.

"Sounds like a plan. You march in stalk naked and tear Kel'Thuzad's bones apart with your bare fingers."

The man continued unfazed. He was already so deeply into a rage that it would be nearly impossible to rouse him from it.

"'Ssussun. Ssussun. Dumo ussta dalhar. Dormagyn ussta dalhar,'" Nathanos said with a smug grin on his face. The man halted. "That's what you said, isn't it? Hmm… high elfin I believe… Loosely translated, it means: 'Light. Light. Bless my child. Save my child.'" The poor man shuddered, closing his eyes tightly. "No wonder poor Kel'Thuzad put you through a wall. It seems he has a bit of a jealous streak."

"Shut up!" the man screamed, whirling and facing Nathanos. "Shut up! SHUT UP!"

Nathanos smiled and stood up. He hopped nimbly out of the debris, righted the hat of the distressed necromancer, and never once stopped looking directly at Ras Frostwhisper.

"You can't save her."

"I have to try!"

"I can save her."

"I have to… to… …"

"And you are going to help me."

"Stop lecturing me, whippersnapper!" the necromancer bellowed. Nathanos lifted a brow and looked over at him.

"Do you have a teleportation scroll?"

"Eh-? Oh, I might have one around here somewhere…" the necromancer muttered, digging into pockets. "Hmm… Hmmmmmmmmmm. Hmmm… Hmm hmmmmmm AHA! I found-"

Nathanos swiped the scroll from him and eyed it. It looked like a perfectly viable teleportation scroll, but for all he knew, it would teleport them to Outland. He frowned a moment, but then decided that they had no choice. Naxxramas was too close for comfort, and the crypt lords and high instructors would soon be back. He read off the activation words, and prayed to nothing in particular.

It was only at that very moment that he realized he could not sense Ketala, and the thought made his voice crack on the last syllable of the spell.

* * *

Felwood

The Draenai…

How to approach them? How to solicit their aid? Was it even worth a shot? Could they even do anything? Would Akama know? Would Akama be willing to tell him the truth? Should he approach the matter subtly or forcefully? Should he return to Tyrande now that Ember was more controllable, and have the high priestess send her to the Alliance Draenai?

All matters to muse on. And wonderful stalling tactics.

It had been nine months since Ember had first come into his care. The little girl had started speaking normally again. She was as annoying as any other child, and had ceaseless questions about everything. Why is the sky blue? What are stars? Why do girls have to wear shirts? Why doesn't Ember have snakes for hair like the naga? How come people don't like to be bitten? Why is Kael all stuffy and grumbly all the time? Can Ember poke the acidic green ooze? Why isn't Ember allowed to set fire to things? Ember likes fire. Why isn't Ember allowed to skin rats alive and burn them? How come it's wrong? If the moon is the eye of Elune, how come it never blinks? Why don't gods have to blink? If Ember was a god, would she have to blink?

And then she'd get sleepy and ask to be picked up, and she'd fall asleep with her cheek against his shoulder, her tiny heartbeat thumping away, and her face so very, very much like Tyrande's, and yet with some features so very much like his own…

She was resting in such a manner now, and he sighed, gently stroking his talons through her hair. Stalling tactics. Damn it all. He closed his eyes tightly and leaned against a tree, and slowly sank to the ground. Damn it all. Damn it all. What was he supposed to do?

"Illidan?"

He looked down at the small child. She was awake, and looking up at him quietly.

"What is it?"

The girl pondered for a moment, and slowly lifted a tiny hand. He was quiet as she touched his face. Curiosity overwhelmed her, and she felt along the length of his cheek, and his mouth, and his nose, and then up to the bandana over his eyes.

"How come you can see with your eyes covered?" she asked.

Illidan grimaced slightly. As with all of Ember's questions about magic and demons, he wasn't certain how to answer this inquiry. At last, he settled with, "My eyes are not like yours. They're made of magic."

"May I see?"

He hesitated, uncertain. Illidan bandaged his eyes for a reason. As much as they had been a gift, and as much as he treasured the sight they gave him, they were also a symbol of his weakness. Like his demon hunter armor, they openly displayed the fact that Sargeras had once laid claim to his soul. When Ember tried to pull his bandana down, he caught her arm, and gently detached her fingers. "No," he answered.

"But-"

"No," he repeated firmly, and she silenced her protests with a light pout. He smirked and gently stroked her cheek. For a moment, she insisted upon being grumpy, and so he tickled her gently under the chin. She squeaked, and squirmed, and giggled. After a few minutes of play fighting, Ember smiled up at him, and then tilted her head to the side.

"Can I call you "Daddy"?"

He stared at her. A long, long time.

"Illidan?"

"You have a father," he said quietly.

Ember made a face. "So? Never met him. Don't know him. Brother says he sees father in dreams sometimes. I don't. Not my father."

Illidan flinched and drew in a painful breath. "I don't think your mother would like it if you called me that."

"How come? You take care of me, and teach me, and feed me and hug me. Isn't that was daddies do?"

"You may not call me "Daddy", Ember."

"Why not? You want me to."

That was the truth. It almost broke him. His insides contracted painfully, and he stared at her in amazement for a moment. Then he shook his head. "You are temptation incarnate," he murmured. "No, Ember. As much as I might like it, I am not your father. You may not call me such. Why not just call me "uncle"?"

"Because uncle's a silly word!"

"How so?"

"Well just say it! Un-cle. It's silly!"

"I can hardly see a word being silly."

"Well, it is. What about "teacher"?"

That almost made Illidan laugh. Teacher. That was Furion's title. Shan'do. "No, I don't think that will work, either."

"You're making this difficult."

"_I'm_ making this difficult? You could just call me "Uncle Illidan"."

"But that _sounds_ funny! Haven't you been paying any attention?"

"Now I think it's silly that you can't call me exactly what I am, simply because you feel the word "uncle" sounds strange. If it's really that bad, why not simply continue to call me by name?"

"How come I can't just call you "Daddy"? I look just like you. I don't look like my brother or father."

"Because I am _not_ your father!"

"But you could be!"

"But I am not."

"Why not? You take care of me. You do all the things daddies are supposed to do."

"There is more to being a father than that!" he exclaimed with exasperation. He was desperately hoping he wouldn't have to give a speech about the birds and the bees.

"What else do they do?"

"Fathers raise their children and watch them grow up, and teach them right from wrong, and are proud of their accomplishments, and take care of them, and… and…" Ember was smiling smugly, and Illidan scowled angrily. "And fathers and mothers are in love, and both love their children very much, and would be very sad to give them up. I am not your father- it is not my right to take you from your mother and father."

"But you love mommy. And you love me."

Silence.

Shaking, he cupped and stroked her cheek, and leaned protectively over her. When Illidan spoke at last, his words were cracked and broken, and his voice came out as a weak whisper. "But you aren't mine." And she wasn't. She belonged to Furion, and Tyrande. They loved her. They had brought her into the world, and given her life. The relationship he had with her was a stolen one- something he did not deserve, and something that did not belong to him.

At that point he realized he had to bring her back. It was up to Tyrande to decide what to do with her.

Ember frowned, not understanding the cause of the demon-hunter's pain. Still, in a surprising show of compassion, she did not press the issue, and instead curled up in the demon hunter's arms. He held her tightly. After a long, long moment, he kissed the top of her head.

* * *

Naxxramas

Ketala stood still before Kel'Thuzad's massive throne, uncertain of what to do. Her white paladin plate stood out in a bizarre contrast to the rest of the room. The archlich had drifted over to his throne and had sat down upon it. He was now regarding her with sad amusement. The minutes stretched endlessly.

"… What happened to you?" she inquired softly after a long time.

"I am no match for Ner'zhul. I never have been. Even though my powers have grown to almost infinite levels, and I have vastly outstripped the Kirin'Tor archmage I once was… I am still no match for him. I was a fool to fight him. I did not last long."

"… Yet he didn't kill you. And he hasn't stripped you of your personality… why? Because of me, you've failed him three times already."

"Arthas left me with my own mind because I am most useful to him with it. But my will is once more his. I would kill you in an instant if he commanded it… I would do anything. Love is no longer strong enough to command me. I am obedient, despite all my own feelings."

"He's broken you, then. As a human might break a horse."

"Perhaps… But I am content in my slavery once more."

Ketala was silent a long moment, before slowly moving. She took a step forward, and then another, until she was directly in front of his throne. "Thank you for protecting me for as long as you could." The archlich tilted his head to the side. "Thank you for letting me live." She lifted her eyes slowly to his. "…Guardian…"

"Your gift will no longer work, Ketala. You know that. You insult your new master by trying."

Ketala shook her head. "You do not understand. You mistake my intentions."

"Oh? And what are your intentions? Pure and innocent as always?"

Surprisingly, she smiled. And then, without a pause, she lunged forward. She shoved her arms around the lich and embraced him tightly, smothering her face into his collar bone. Kel'Thuzad never attempted to stop her. In fact, his arms moved tightly around her, and he rubbed her back. "…Guardian…"

"I know. I'm here," he murmured softly. "For whatever it is worth."

"It's enough."

"I would kill you on the slightest whim of my master."

"It doesn't matter. I still love you."

"Then I believe you shall survive here."

She was silent a long moment, clinging tightly to the arch lich. Then she took in a deep breath.

"Will you teach me magic?" she asked softly. Kel'Thuzad blinked, looking down at her.

"Magic? Why?"

"So I can utilize my elemental heritage more effectively. That… and I do not want to be a death knight. I'd rather be a magus… like you."

If Kel'Thuzad thought anything of Ketala desiring to pursue his own profession, he said nothing of it. His only response was: "The Lich King finds that acceptable."

"I'm glad. May I remain with you like this for a bit?"

"For a small while. There is work to be done, but the Lich King prefers a willing servant to a depressed one."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"I'm certain you will. Keep in mind also that if you fail him, everything you care about will suffer."

"Including you. I'll remember." She closed her eyes tightly. Kel'Thuzad bared his teeth in a smile, and then suddenly stiffened (as much as a skeleton can stiffen). Ketala was warm. Furthermore, he could hear her heart beating.

* * *

Moonglade

This time, it was not so hard. The life still blazed there, brilliant and white. It was like a beacon, drawing him back. And it saddened him, because he knew that he would never lose his way back to his body now. He had one less reason to return. Yet he needed to. He could not fight the overwhelming impulse that something was wrong. Something needed his attention. Something to do with his family. Something to do with his child.

Tyrande laughed lightly. She was teaching Fenuine to use a bow. The little boy was utterly adorable, a look of profound concentration on his face. His arms trembled with strain as his carefully lined up the bow. With a snap, he released the string. The arrow sprung forward, and dove gracefully into the practice target he'd been aiming for. It was a wonderfully talented shot. Tyrande cheered and picked him up. She whirled him around and kissed his face, and praised him. The child laughed and hugged his mother, nuzzling against her cheek.

And then, quite suddenly, he paused, and stared at something just behind her. She blinked, and then froze, feeling a familiar presence near her. So familiar. So wonderful. So welcomed. After a moment, the air around her warmed. Soft breath brushed over her cheek, and a familiar aura surrounding her. That scent… Arms wrapped around the High Priestess, drawing her back against a firm body. A cheek pressed against her temple, a green beard tickling her cheek.

Fenuine smiled. He said a single word: "Daddy."

Tyrande sighed weakly, and leaned back into her sweet beloved. She wrapped an arm around his neck, and he gently supported Fenuine with a hand. For a moment, he simply held her.

"When did you awaken?" she asked softly.

"Just now," he murmured. "Tyrande… Where is our daughter?" The night elf female stiffened. Worry immediately spread over Malfurion's face, and he turned Tyrande around to face him, and looked her straight in the eyes. "Tyrande?" She shuddered, a look of pain spreading over her face. Furion's eyes widened. A dread worry build up within him- worry that something horrible had happened to his violet-haired child. "Tyrande, what's wrong? Where's Ember? Is she alright?"

At last, the High Priestess found her voice. "I don't know," she whispered.

"What happened?" he asked urgently, his eyes searching her face for answers. "Has something happened to her?"

"No… No, nothing has happened to her… Nothing I know of anyway-."

"Then what, Tyrande? Why is it your eyes filled with pain when I mentioned our child?"

Tyrande closed her eyes, and took in a deep breath. "… Please… let us return home… I would speak of this after Fenuine has been put to bed."

Furion frowned further, but he nodded. Something was wrong.

Furion and Tyrande both put Fenuine to bed, but Tyrande left the little boy's room first. This gave Furion some time to talk to his son. He told the boy a story, and kissed his cheek, and promised he'd stay for awhile. He was so beautiful… And tears pooled in the druid's eyes when he thought of how much he had missed of the boy's life. But there was a more immediate problem. When the little one had fallen asleep, he quietly tucked him into bed, kissed his brow, and left the room.

He moved down the stairs, and found his mate sitting upon their couch. She had poured herself a glass of wine, and there was very little left remaining in the glass. It was so peculiar for Tyrande to drink, that Furion's worry returned ten-fold. He came up to the priestess and knelt before her, taking her hands into his own.

"Tyrande. What is wrong? Where is Ember?"

Tyrande took in a deep breath, and began her story from the beginning.

"When Ember first began to crawl, I noticed something was wrong. … She would go into fits of anger, and attack Fenuine. By the time she was four, her fits were so violent that she would claw open Fenuine's face… And I'd have to knock her unconscious to stop her rages. Not even the blessing of Elune could calm her." Furion's brows came together in confusion and thought. "The abuse happened so often that I began searching for any way to cure her. It was not fair to Fenuine. I had to do something. One day I was in Nighthaven, and I sensed your brother in Moonglade. I sent an owl to bring him to me… And I introduced him to both children. At first, he was upset and attempted to flee… But I had him hold Fenuine, and I calmed him down. I told him about Ember, and when he looked further at her, he confirmed my suspicions… Ember was entirely bathed in demonic energy. He attempted to comfort me, for I was so at a loss as to what to do, and he mused on what I might be able to do for her, and who might be able to help her. In the middle of our conversation, she attacked Fenuine. He helped pull Ember off and…" Tyrande closed her eyes.

"… And what, my Beloved?"

"… I was so desperate… I couldn't leave my people, or Fenuine… I couldn't travel like he could. It would have taken weeks, if not months for a letter to reach Jaina Proudmoore. So I begged him to take her… If anyone could help her, or find someone who could help her, he could. I pleaded with him to take her. To examine her himself, to bring her to Jaina Proudmoore, to bring her anywhere in order that someone might be able to help her."

Furion's eyes widened.

"… I have not heard from them since. It's almost been a year…" Tyrande's eyes closed tightly. "I worry about her every day. That's why I haven't left Moonglade… I know he'd come here first…"

A thousand possibilities shot through Furion's mind. As any parent is wont to do, he thought of all the horrible things that could have happened to her. That she had been killed, or totally consumed by the demon taint in her… Or worse, that Illidan could have betrayed her… That his lust for magic could have caused him to do something terrible. He did not let his fears show. He wrapped Tyrande in his arms, and held her tightly, and he rubbed her back to calm her down.

* * *

Some Time Later

Illidan sighed softly. He was holding Ember against his shoulder, and had chosen to walk the distance from Felwood to Nighthaven. It gave him time to think. And it was another stalling tactic. Ember was excited, and watching the area around her with rapt attention. He had told her that he was bringing her back to see her mother and brother. Immediately the child had become ecstatic. It was obvious that she missed her family immensely, and was eager to be reunited with them. They had reached Moonglade, and were walking quietly under its sheltering boughs. There was not much time left, and there was nothing to do with the time he had. Just walk. And think. His feet carried him onward.

Furion was showing Fenuine a simple druidic trick, and delighting in how easily the small boy tapped into druidic energies. Tyrande was right. The boy had an amazing aptitude for learning. He was talented with the bow, and apparently he would be gifted with nature as well. Fenuine had a very quiet and cheerful demeanor. There was a naïve innocence to him that was so very refreshing-

"Priestess Tyrande! Priestess Tyrande!" Malfurion blinked and lifted his head. He observed as a Night Elf runner came up to his home. Tyrande stood and greeted the messenger. Whatever the runner said had an immediate effect on Tyrande. Her eyes widened and she whirled around, grabbing her bow and strapping it to her back. Furion blinked, standing and calling to her.

"My love? What's wrong?"

"Illidan!" she gasped, turning and bolting off. Furion stiffened, then grabbed Fenuine and ran after her.

Illidan waited silently at the gates of Nighthaven. He had been detained by the guards, but he did not mind. It was another minute he could waste. And then Tyrande arrived, with tears in her eyes, and she rushed up to him and took Ember from his arms, and kissed her all over the face, and embraced her so tightly…

And then Furion was there. The druid cast an uncertain look his brother's way, and then immediately came up to see if Ember was alright. The little girl was fine, and hugged her mother joyfully, a smile across her face.

"Oh, Illidan! Where have you been?" Tyrande asked over the happy reunion, turning her eyes to the half demon.

"Moonglade. Felwood. Theramore." he murmured. "She went feral for a long time. It took much effort to return her to this state. I've been able to help her somewhat; to pacify her and make her more stable… But how to cure her is beyond my knowledge. I brought her to Jaina Proudmoore, and to the mother of Medivh. I received much advice, and many leads… But I felt it was best to return her to you, so that you might decide what needs to be done." Illidan turned his head, looking at Furion.

"What are you doing awake?"

"…It's been four years, Illidan, since I last walked in the mortal world. That's how long I was absent last time," the druid murmured absently, coming up and gently stroking Ember's cheek.

The little girl jumped and looked bewilderedly at Furion. Her eyebrows moved together. She frowned and attempted to hide behind Tyrande. The archdruid blinked and then gave an expression of sorrow when he realized that his daughter did not recognize him. Tyrande smiled weakly and gently stroked Ember's hair. "This is your daddy, Ember. Don't you remember me telling you about him?" she asked gently.

Ember frowned further, and looked Furion up and down. After a moment, she shook her head. "No."

Tyrande blinked. "No, you don't remember? But Ember, I told you-"

"No," Ember repeated louder. "Not mine."

Furion recoiled as if struck, and Tyrande's jaw dropped. Illidan flinched.

"Ember, of course he's your father, he-"

"Not mine!" she insisted vehemently. "Fenuine's!"

"Ember- what are you talking about? Ember, Fenuine's father is your father!" Tyrande said alarmed. Ember gave a vigorous shake of her head. The priestess stared in exasperation and asked, "Then who _is_?"

Immediately, Ember turned and looked at Illidan. Silence reigned as the demonhunter backed up a step, dismay written across his face.

Furion looked from Ember's face to Illidan's. He noted how very, very similar they were. He noted that Ember's condition was similar to Illidan's own. He noted the regenerating horns upon the half-demon's brow. The archdruid's mouth set itself in a grave line, and his eyes hardened. He set Fenuine down, and then pushed silently past his wife. Druidic energies literally coursed around him, and his aura pulsed with barely contained fury.

"What have you done to my child?" he asked in a low voice. Illidan immediately looked at Furion, and his dismay was replaced by vexed irritation.

"What have _I_ done?" he asked slowly, darkly. "_What have _I _done?_" His eyes began burning more furiously, green flames apparent through his bandana. "What makes you so terribly certain that _I _am responsible for any of this?"

"Your anger only serves to prove your guilt! Do you think that I am daft? That I cannot see how much she looks like you?"

"_What_?"

"Deny that you wish she was _yours_!" Illidan reeled backwards, and gaped at his brother. "That's all you do, brother! You take whatever pleases you, regardless of right and wrong! Regardless of how others suffer! Deny that you envy my relationship with sweet Tyrande. Deny that you envy the existence of my children! Deny your jealousy! Deny that you have dwelled a thousand times on the concept that Ember might have been yours! Deny you have felt that she _should_ have been yours!"

Every last remaining one of Furion's accusations struck home, because every last one of them was partially true. Each blow served to enrage his half-demonic brother.

"Oh, so because I might have felt these desires, I am automatically to blame for every last one of your problems? That seems to be how it always is, doesn't it? If we are speaking of jealousy, let's reflect on how hostile you've suddenly become just because your kid doesn't like you!"

"You have still not denied what I have said!" the druid said darkly.

"I do not deny any of it!" Illidan shouted. "I deny having acted on such impulses! Ember came to her own conclusions! I had nothing to do with it!"

"And so we are simply to assume that you are the better caretaker, and so therefore you should be given her!"

The demonhunter couldn't take it any more- mostly because Furion had just highlighted the thing he wanted most in the entire world. His whole face contorted in deep and bitter hatred, and he looked his brother directly in the eyes. "You bigoted, self-righteous, hypocritical _fool_. I brought her _back_. I brought Tyrande _back_. I have never, during the entire course of my life, stolen anything from you. I am the one who feels you have taken everything from me. I have done everything right. I acted with every last grain of morality that I possess. I did what was right, regardless of my own needs and desires. And yet, somehow, I am still a monster in your eyes. I will never be good enough for you, will I? I will always be the demon lurking at the edge of your vision, committing vile deeds the world abroad."

Furion hesitated, drawing back an inch.

"You have named everything I have felt, everything I have desired. Everything I gave up by bringing her here. You have insulted me in every way a person can be insulted, and you have accused me of misdeeds when I have done everything in my power not to betray your trust. You have nothing more to say. I'm leaving. I have dictated everything I have learned from my journeys in this letter. Take it." And with that he dropped a scroll of parchment, turned around, and began walking back towards Felwood.

Furion stared.

Ember's eyes widened, and she gasped in alarm. "Wait!" she cried out, reaching towards the demonhunter. Illidan did not falter. "Wait! Wait! No leave! No leave!" Her voice was elevating to a piercing pitch, and she began struggling against Tyrande's arms. "Wait! Illidan! _Illidan!_" she screamed. "Illidan, no leave me! No leave me!" He kept walking. "Illidan!"

Nothing.

"DADDY!" Illidan paused, and turned, looking at the tiny girl. He lifted a hand and pointed at Furion.

"That is your father. I am your uncle. Accept it. Life doesn't always turn out the way you want it to."

"No leave me! Love Ember! Love Ember!" He tensed up. For a long moment, he stayed motionless.

"Exactly," he said softly, and he turned and continued walking.

"LOVE ILLIDAN!"

He had the strength not to turn back around, even as Ember burst out bawling and crying.

Malfurion Stormrage stared after his brother in a state of disbelief. Never in his life had he seen Illidan act with such poise or maturity. Never had he felt so ashamed.

* * *

Hillsbrad

As the inside of a dragon's belly is a rather uncomfortable place to be, Lydon did everything within his power to avoid going to such a destination. Fortunately for Lydon, "everything within his power" was quite a bit. Lydon shoved Umpi down and cast a shield around himself, firing shadow bolts, streams of light, bursts of flame and ice. He battered the monstrosity back, staving it off. Mana shields, power shields, and various healing spells kept him up as he did battle within Farmer Ray's pumpkin patch. The dragon was a worthy foe. It took every last ounce of his power to continue battling it, and he was barely making any gains on the creature.

At about that point, the Hillsbrad guards arrived on the scene. They rushed the dragon; they rushed the undead. They terrified the living snot out of Humanoid-Umpi.

The Ex-frog cried in distress and suddenly bolted. She ran as fast as her legs could carry her. This time, she managed to maneuver around the cows that got in her way. Lydon was mid-battle. He did not notice that Umpi was fleeing until it was too late. The dragon saw her. It recognized easy prey.

Lydon blinked as he dragon suddenly disengaged and bolted off into the hills. The cocked his head to the side, and blasted the head clean off the shoulders of a Hillsbrad guard. Idly, he wondered why the dragon had attacked him instead of the cows in the area. Or Farmer Ray. Idly, he wondered why a red dragon was running around attacking anyone at all. Idly, he wondered if the red dragon was retarded. Idly, he wondered why the Hillsbrad guards were milling around him, taking chunks out of his magical shield, when there was a giant dangerous reptile flying around.

Then he noticed that Umpi was missing. His eyes went wide. A fear spell sent most of the Hillsbard guard running.

"UMPI!"

His shield reached its limit. Not all of the guards had fled, and the remaining ones had destroyed the magical barrier. He could renew it, but then he couldn't save Umpi.

It was then that Lydon did the single most selfish and single most selfless thing of his entire life. A magical shield erupted around Humanoid-Umpi, just as an explosion of red flame shot forward from her draconic pursuer.

A blade. It slid through Lydon's back, and glided elegantly up through his intestines, stomach, and heart. The apothecary stiffened, and then looked down at his chest. The tip of a massive two-hander was protruding from his left chest. His feet were hovering off the ground. Amazing! His attacker had picked him off the ground, using nothing more than the blade in Lydon's body. In bewilderment, the Apothecary looked over his shoulder to see a full-fledged Alliance paladin standing there, in elegant golden plate.

Umpi blinked, surprised that the dragonfire had not killed her. She looked up at the great red creature in alarm, and then blinked as she saw the shimmering golden radiance around her. The ex-frog tilted her head to the side, and tried to touch the golden glow. When she could not, she looked around for an explanation as to why the golden glow was there.

She saw Lydon, her tormentor. He was looking at her with an expression that her primal human brain recognized as worry. She saw him, and she watched as a man the color of the sun rammed a silvery object through her tormentor's body, and hoisted him up into the air. Lydon jerked weirdly, and looked down at himself. He tilted his head to the side, looked back at the golden man, and blinked.

An explosion of golden energy rippled down form the sky. Her tormentor screamed. Oh he screamed, and screamed, and screamed. She covered her ears, and her jaw dropped in dumb surprise. When the screaming finally stopped, her tormentor was a burnt, dead-looking thing. The golden man gave a jerk, and her tormentor's body fell to the ground. It landed with a charred "splurch"ing noise. Umpi stared, entirely oblivious to the dragon that was trying to rend her to bits.

Her tormentor did not move.

She docked her head to the side.

A long pause.

And then suddenly, Lydon shifted. He took in a breath, and weakly lifted his head. His face was melting. The fried goo from his eyes had melded with the fried goo from his flesh, turning his visage into something vaguely resembling oatmeal. His hair and clothes had been burned to charred ash. He lifted a hand in her direction, and his mouth moved weakly.

The last thing Umpi saw before a portal to the Undercity swallowed her up, was the golden man bringing his boot down upon her tormentor's head, and smashed it into gray pudding.

* * *

Felwood

Illidan walked back the way he had came. It gave him time to think. When he arrived in Felwood, he walked directly up to Kael's tent, and barged in. In retrospect, that might not have been the best idea. The elf was bathing. Kael squeaked and jumped so powerfully he knocked his bathing tub over, and sent water splashing everywhere. Illidan lifted a brow.

"We leave in the morning for Outland."

Kael was still in a state of shock, and he peered at Illidan in utter bewilderment, grabbing a towel to cover himself. "O-outland, my lord?"

"We have remained in Felwood for one reason: for the protection that Moonglade and the Nightelves give us. Vashj is not happy with this. The Nightelves are not happy with this. You are not happy with this. We have a home in Outland that Akama is securing for us. It is high time we return to it. We are not welcomed here."

Now this was information that Kael knew. They were not welcome in Felwood. Trade was not great, they had almost no one who considered them a friend or ally, fights broke out daily, and there were surrounded on all sides by hostile faces. However, the proximity of Moonglade protected them from the looming threat of Kil'jaden, and Illidan had kept them in Felwood so long that it was out of the blue for him to suddenly insist they return to Outland. Living in Felwood was hard- it was true- but they had also eked out a living in it. It was their home. It provided some vague sense of stability. His people would want to know why they were suddenly leaving everything they had worked for.

"Why now, lord Illidan?"

The demon hunter's face darkened into a black scowl. "Do you dare question me?" he inquired, demonic energies slowly wrapping around him. His eyes glowed green from the depths of his bandanas, and his tattoos glowed.

Kael had not seen Illidan this way for a long time. It was as if all of the half-demon's newfound compassion had suddenly melted away. Everything that had happened in the last few years was gone- burned away by some purging fire. He was exactly the way he had been the moment they attacked Northrend. A dark and overpowering beacon of power and taint. The elfin prince swallowed and shook his head vigorously.

"Of-of course not, my lord."

The demonhunter snorted. "Good," he said darkly, and he turned and headed out.

"My lord? What about Zul'vii-?"

Illidan whirled around and flame rippled down his flame, scorching the ground around where he stood. "Damn Zul'vii, and all her wretched ilk. We leave for Outland at the first rays of dawn!" he roared, and then he was gone, his powerful footsteps audible for a few seconds more.

Kael'thas Sunstrider shuddered, and put a hand to his face. By the Sunwell, what had just happened? … There had been so much hope… So much life. And the vague chance- the tiniest possibility- that his people would heal. So much… and all of it to be snuffed out, just like that? What had happened? What had Illidan done? By the Nether, they were all going to be mad by the end of this. Insane and twisted by demonic energies, prey to their own addictions, living a life of slavery to the darkness.

His fingers brushed the scars left behind from Ember's raging. Kael drew back his hand and stared at it, as if it had surprised him. He frowned, a thoughtful look passing over his fair features.

He had to find Zul'vii.

* * *

_**THE END**_

* * *

BWAHAHAHA! Yes, I know that ending was just an excuse for a sequel. This is the end of MahiMahi. I might post an epilogue, but I'm going to immediatly start on the sequel "Truae". MAKE SURE YOU MEMBER THAT! 

Yarg! Review or I will not... Oh wait... Nevermind.

I'm actually warming up to Kael's character a bit. I know he's supposed to be crazy and evil by the time the Burning Crusade comes out, but I just couldn't do it to him! We'll leave that role for Illidan, for he's much more suited to it. Hehe, out of everything that happens in the entire chapter, there's really only one hopeful note: And that the very last line, and is delivered by Kael. I shall make fans of him yet!

Oh, btw, if anyone is wondering why Ketala's heart is beating, or why she is warm, stick around! I'll either explain it in Truae, or write it in the epilogue.


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